L 



ESSAYS ON SONG-WRITING; 

WITH A COLLECTION OF SUCH 

ENGLISH SONGS 

AS ARE MOST 

EMINENT FOR POETICAL MERIT. 
BY JOHN AIKIN. 

■ 
A NEW EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS, 

AND A SUPPLEMENT, 

BY rFh* EVANS. 




PRINTED FOR R. H. EVANS," PALL-MALL, 

BY W. BULMER AND CO. CLEVELAND. ROW. 
1810. 



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ADVERTISEMENT, 



It is not necessary to detain the Reader 
long by an explanation of the motives 
which induced the Publisher to under- 
take a new edition of the following ele- 
gant little Work. Its merit has been 
universally recognized, and its scarcity 
has long been a subject of popular regret. 
The many years which have elapsed since 
the publication of the last Edition, seemed 
to leave no hope that Dr. Aikin could be 
prevailed on to gratify the public by a 
revision and enlargement of his Work. 
He had declined the task in the prime 
and vigour of life ; and he might now 
think it unbecoming his years, to engage 
in a republication of these nugce canortf.— 
Turpe senilis amor, the Doctor might ex- 
claim, and though he might be pleased to 
see his volume ranged by the side of 






vi ADVERTISEMENT. 

those of Percy, Ellis, and some other simi- 
lar publications, yet he has abandoned the 
friendly office of revision to other hands. 
The present Editor has diligently revised 
the text, which had been rather hastily 
printed in the former Editions ; he has 
assigned to their proper Authors the 
Poems which had before been erroneously 
ascribed, and he has annexed the Writers' 
names to various others which were 
printed as anonymous; and, lastly, he 
has added a Supplement, which he flat- 
ters himself will render this new Edi- 
tion a complete Collection of the best 
Songs in the language. The Editor feels 
confident, that in prefixing to this new 
Edition Mrs. Barbauld's Poem on the 
Origin of Song-Writing, he anticipates 
the wishes of every Reader, 



PREFACE 



On conversing with a few of my friends 
who were lovers of Poetry, I have fre- 
quently joined them in lamenting that 
the number of excellent Songs which 
our language afforded, were so dispersed 
through a variety of authors, or over- 
whelmed in injudicious Collections, that 
it was a most difficult matter to discover 
and enjoy the riches of this kind which 
we possessed. We observed that every 
collection of Songs, without exception, 
was degraded by dullness, or debased by in- 
decency ; and that Song* Writing scarcely 
seemed in any of them to be considered 
as a pleasing species of poetical composi- 
tion, but merely as serving for the con- 
veyance of some favourite Tunes. We 
were concerned to find that the more 



viir PREFACE. 

modern any Collection was, it was re- 
markably the more deficient in poetical 
merit; so .that a total decay of all taste 
for genuine Poetry, in this pleasing branch 
of it, was to be apprehended. This we in 
great measure attributed to the fashion- 
able rage for Music, which had encou- 
raged such a mushroom growth of Comic 
Operas, that vile mongrel of the Drama, 
where the most enchanting Tunes are 
suited with the most flat and wretched 
combinations of words that ever disgraced 
the genius of a nation; and "where the 
miserable versifier only appears as the 
hired underling of a Musical Composer. 
We thought, therefore, that it would be a 
meritorious piece of service to the cause 
of Poetry, by uniting into one firm body 
the most excellent productions in Song- 
Writing, to form a barrier against the 
modish insipidity of the age, and to gra- 
tify such real lovers of genius as yet re- 
main amongst us. 

This task I was induced to undertake; 
and were I to make a boastful recital of 
the numerous volumes of Song- Collections 



PREFACE. ix 

and Miscellany Poems which I have 
turned over for the purpose, it would 
show that industry at least had not been 
wanting in accomplishing it. This kind 
of praise, however, is of so inferior a na- 
ture, that ; I confess, it would scarcely 
satisfy my ambition. During the progress 
of my researches, I was insensibly led to 
make some remarks on the peculiar char- 
acter and diversities of the pieces which 
passed in review before me, and to form 
comparisons between them and others, the 
produce of a different age and country. 
As the subject had novelty to recommend 
it, and was suited to my inclinations, I 
was incited to pursue it to a length which 
seemed to render it lawful for me to take 
the title of an Essayist, instead of a mere 
Compiler. If the attempts which should 
support this more honourable character 
have not the fortune to meet with appro- 
bation, I must be contented with my 
humble endeavours to please by the merits 
of others ; yet I cannot acknowledge any 
impropriety in the design, well remem- 
bering that Horace promises his friends 



x PREFACE. 

not only to present them with verse, but 
to tell them the worth of his present. 

It may perhaps be a matter of surprise, 
that after so much labour I have not been 
able to furnish a larger Collection than is 
here offered ; but on considering the 
manner in which these pieces have been 
ushered into the world, the wonder will 
cease. The chief sources of good Songs, 
are the Miscellany Poems and Plays from 
the time of Charles the Second, to the 
conclusion of Queen Anne's reign. Most 
of these were given in the earliest Col- 
lections, mixed however with the trash of 
the times, and copied from one to another 
with no farther variation than substitut- 
ing new trash for such as was out of date. 
In the most modern Collections, all the 
beauties, as well as the insipid Pieces of 
the early ones are discarded, and the 
whole is made up of favourite airs from 
the fashionable Comic Operas of the win- 
ter, and the summer warblings at Vaux- 
hall, Ranelagh, and Spring Gardens ; so 
that in a year's time they are as much 
out of date as an Almanack. From this 



PREFACE. xi 

account it will be perceived, that after 
making use of one of the best old Collec- 
tions as a standard, all the rest were little 
more than mere repetitions; and that the 
very modern ones were entirely useless. 

After all, I would not presume to say 
that I have culled every valuable produc- 
tion which this branch of Poetry affords. 
Difference of taste will always prevent 
uniformity of judgment, even where the 
faculties of judging are equal ; and I have 
been much less solicitous to give a Collec- 
tion to which nothing could be added, than 
one from which nothing could reasonably 
be rejected. In Song-Writing, as well as 
in every other production of art, there is a 
large class of the mediocres, which are of 
such dubious merit, as would allow the 
Reader to hesitate in his approbation of 
them. I have felt very little scruple in 
rejecting a number of these. It is not 
enough that Poetry does not disgust, it 
ought to give raptures. A much more 
disagreeable piece of severity was the re- 
jection of several Pieces, marked with a 
rich vein of genuine Poetry, but not suf- 



xii PREFACE. 

ficiently guarded from offending that 
charming delicacy of the sex, which every 
man must admire, and ought to respect. 
These were the luxuriances of an age, 
when the men of pleasure lavished wit 
and genius, as well as health and fortune, 
upon their diversions. Had they lived at 
a time when taste was more refined, and 
manners were less licentious, their natural 
gallantry would have restrained them from 
offering an outrage to those, whom they 
most wished for readers and admirers. 

I -hope I have now said enough to inti- 
mate for what class of readers this Work 
is calculated. The soft warbler, who fills 
up a vacancy of thought with a tune, in 
which the succession of words gives no 
idea but that of a succession of sounds, 
will here be much disappointed in meet- 
ing with the names of Prior, Congreve, 
and Landsdowne, instead of Arne, Brent, 
and Tenducci. The midnight roarer of 
coarse jest and obscenity will be still far-- 
ther out of his element. But to those 
who are enamoured with that sacred art, 
which beyond every other elevates and 



PREFACE. xiii 

refines the soul, to whom the sprightly 
lyre of Horace and Anacreon, and the 
melting music of Sappho still sound, 
though ages have passed since they 
vibrated on the ear, I will venture to 
promise a source of enjoyment, from the 
Works of those great masters whose names 
adorn this Collection, which I hope they 
will not think too dearly purchased by 
the perusal of such introductory matter 
as is submitted to their candid examin- 
ation. 



A TABLE OF FIRST LINES. 



A chieftain to the Highlands bound - - 29T 

A nymph of every charm possess'd - 30T 

Ah ! Chloris could I now but sit - - - 222 

Ah ! cruel maid how hast thou chang'd - - 279 

Ah ! how sweet it is to love - 328 

Ah ! the shepherd's mournful fate - * 103 

Ah ! why must words my flame reveal - 110 

Alexis shunn'd his fellow swains - - 6T 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd - 58 

All my past life is mine no more - - . . 203 

An amorous swain to Juno pray'd - - - 206 

As Amoret with Phyllis sat - - - 1 50 

As Ariana, young and fair, - 235 
As Granville's soft numbers tune Myra's just praise 316 

As near a weeping spring reciin'd - - 116 

As on a summer's day - - - - 65 

As the snow in vallies lying - 218 

Ask if yon damask rose be sweet - 326 

Ask me why I send you here - - 348 

Ask'st thou how long my love shall stay - 280 

Aspasia rolls her sparkling eyes - 254 

At Cynthia's feet I pray'd, I wept - 238 

Away, let nougnt to love displeasing - 159 

Away with these self-loving lads - ■> - 264 



Bid me when forty winters more 
Blest as th' immortal gods is he 



152 
101 



xvi A TABLE OF FIRST LINES. 

Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art - - - 188 

Bow the head, thou lily fair - 251 

By the gaily circling glass - 341 

Can love be controll'd by advice - - - 151 

Celia hoard thy charms no more - - 216 

Celia too late you would repent - - - 219 

Chloe brisk and gay appears - - - 213 

Chloe's the wonder of her sex - - - 211 

Clitoris yourself you so excel - - - 23T 

Come all ) e youths whose hearts e'er bled - 13T 

Come gentle god of soft repose - - - 253 

Come here fond youth, whoe'er thou be - 112 

Come, Leila, fill the goblet up - - 299 

Come little infant love me now - - - 225 

Come live witE me and be my love - - 302 

Come shepherds we '11 follow the hearse - 91 

Corinna cost me many a prayer - 203 

Cruel invader of my rest - 350 

Cupid instruct an amorous swain - 208 

Cynthia frowns whene'er I woo her - - 192 

Damon, if you will believe me - - 197 

Daphnis stood pensive in the shade - - 60 

Dear Chloe what means this disdain - - 314 
Dear Chloe while thus beyond measure -"' - . 157 

Dear Colin prevent my warm blushes - - 200 

Dear is my little native vale - 347 

Despairing beside a clear stream - - 62 

Drink to me only with thine eyes - 263 

Encompass'd in an angel's frame - - - 351 

Fair Amoret is gone astray - - - 193 

Fair and soft, and gay and young - 145 

Far in the windings of a vale - - - 73 



A TABLE OF FIRST LINES. xvii 

Fly, thoughtless youth, th' enchantress fly 1 34 

For ever, Fortune, will thou prove - - 155 

For tenderness frara'd in life's early day - - 309 

From all uneasy passions free - - - 133 

From anxious zeal and factious strife - • - SCO 

From place to place forlorn I go - - 143 

Gentle air, thou breath of lovers - - . - 226 

Gently touch the warbling lyre > 326 

Good madam, when ladies are willing - - 201 

Good morrow to the day so fair - 305 
Go plaintive souns, and to the fair - - - 129 

Go tell Amynta, gentle swain - - 104 

Had I a heart for falsehood framed - - 310 

Hail to the myrtle shade - - - 124 

Hard is the fate of him who loves - 306 

Hark, hark, 'tis a voice from the tomb - 295 
How blest has my time been, what days have I known 274 

How yonder ivy courts the oak - - - 318 

I cannot change as others do - - 329 

I did but look and love awhile - 278 

I envy not the proud their wealth - 346 

I ne'er could any lustre see - 312 

I never knew a sprightly fair - - - 277 

I prithee send me back my heart - = 330 

I smile at love and all his arts - 284 

If all the world and love were young - v - 303 

If ever thou didst joy to bind - - -• 114 

If the quick spirit of your eye - 220 

If truth can fix the wavering heart - - 333 

If wine and music have the power - - - 108 

I'll range around the shady bow'rs - - 285 

In a cottage emhosom'd within a deep shade - 335 

In Chloris all soft charms agree - - 194 
b 



XV 111 



A TABLE OF FIRST LINES* 



In vain, dear Chloe, you suggest 

I tell thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve 

It is not, Celia, in our power 

It was a friar of order gray 



241 
196 
191 

37 



Late when love I seem'd to slight 
Let not love on me bestow 
Let the ambitious favor find 
Love and folly were at play 
Love's a dream of mighty treasure 
Love's but the frailty of the mind 



221 
199 
132 
206 
208 
193 



Mistaken fair, lay Sherlock by . - - - 210 

Mortals learn your lives to measure - - 151 

My banks they are furnish'd with bees - - 84 

My days have been so wonderous free ■ - - 331 

My dear mistress has a heart - - - 131 

My !ove was fickle once and changing - - 189 

My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook, - 267 

My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine - 339 

My time, O ye Muses ! was happily spent - - 268 



Not, Celia, that I juster am 

Now see my goddess, earthly born 



190 
121 



Nancy, wilt thou go with me - - - 161 

young Lochinvar is gone out of the West - . 337 

O'er moorlands and mountains rude barren and bare 80 

Of all the girls that are so smart - - 282 / 

Of Leinster fam'd for maidens fair - - 49 

Oft on the troubled ocean's face ... 134 

Oh had my love ne'er smil'd on me -^ - 311 

Oh how vain is every blessing - 351 

Oh turn away those cruel eyes - - - 214 

On a bank beside a willow - . - 138 

On Belvidera's bosom lying - - - 18 



A TABLE OF FIRST LINES. xix 

One morning very early, one morning in the spring 69 

One parting kiss my Ethelinde - 247" 

Prepard to rail, resolv'd to part - - - 136 

Pursuing beauty men descry - 230 

Sabla, thou saw'st the exulting foe - - 348 

Say, lovely dream, where couldst thou find - 223 

Say, Myra, why is gentle love - - - - 191 

Say not Olinda I despise. - - 156 

Says Plato why should man be vain - 340 

She loves and she confesses too - - 227 

Should some perverse malignant star - - 242 

Sigh no more ladies, ladies sigh no more - - 260 

Stella and Flavia every hour - - 231 

Strephon has fashion, wit, and youth - - 238 

Strephon, when you see me fly - - - 119 

Swain thy hopeless passion smother - - 207 

Sweet are the charms of her I love - 265 

Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight - 342 

Take, oh, take those lips away - - 261 

Tell me, Damon, dost thou languish - 322 

Tell me no more I am deceived - 209 

Tell me not how fair she is - 324 

Tell me not I my time misspend - 153 

Tell me no more of pointed darts - - 345 

Tell my Strephon that I die - - 143 

The boatmen shout, 'tis time to part - - 2T6 

The day is departed and round from the cloud - 272 

The Graces and the wand'ring Loves - - 223 

The heavy hours are almost past - - 107 

The merchant, to secure his treasure - - 215 

The nymph that I lov'd was as cheerful as day - 315 
The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r - 281 

The shape and face let others prize - - 334 



xx A TABLE OF FIRST LINES, 

There is one dark and sullen hour - - 144 

The sun was sunk beneath the hill - - 70 

The western sky was purpled o'er. - - 77 

This bottle's the sun of our table - - 342 

Tho' cruel you seem to my pain - - 146 

Thy fatal shafts unerring move - - 102 

'Tis not the liquid brightness of these eyes - 123 

'Tis now since I sat down before - - 228 

To all you Ladies now at land - 291 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb - 140 

Too plain, dear youth, those tell-tale eyes - - 1 IT 
To the brook and the willow that heard him complain 139 

Turn, gentle hermit of the dale 42 

'Twas when the seas were roaring - 56 

Vain are the charms of white and red - - 212 

Waft me, soft and cooling breeze, - - - 125 

Wake, ye nightingales, oh wake - - 313 

Waken, Lords and Ladies gay - - 300 

We ail to conquering beauty bow - - 273 

What, put off with one denial - - 198 

When all was wrapt in dark midnight - 53 

When charming Teraminta sings - - 131 

When Damon languish'd at my feet - 319 

When daisies pied and -violets blue - - - 259 

When Delia on the plain appears - - 109 

When first I dar'd by soft surprise - 275 

When first I saw Lucinda's face - 236 

When first I saw thee graceful move - - 120 

When first I sought fair Celia's love - - 202 

When first upon your tender cheek - 234 

When gay Philander fell a prize - - 287 

When gentle Celia first I knew - - 232 

When here Lucinda first we came - - 141 

When lovely woman stoops to folly - - 142 



A TABLE OF FIRST LINES. xxi 

When Orpheus went down to the regions below 211 

When Sappho tun'd the rapturd strain - - 128 

When your beauty appears - - 149 

Where the bee sucks, there lurk I - -- 259 

While in the bower with beauty blest - 1ST 

Why, cruel creature, why so bent - 154 

Why heaves my fond bosom ! ah, what can it mean 321 

Why we love and why we hate - - 199 

Why will Florella, while I gaze - 243 

Why will you my passion reprove, - - 8T 

Wine, wine in the morning - - - 240 

With amorous^ wiles and perjur'd eyes - 288 

With women I have pass'd my days - - 289 

Would you taste the noontide air - - 32T 

Wrong not, sweet Mistress of my heart - - 261 

Ye happy swains whose hearts are free - - 148 

Ye little loves that ronnd her wait - - - 205 

Yes, fairest proof of beauty's power - - 105 

Yes, Ful via is like Venus fair - - - - 195 

Ye shepherds and nymphs that adorn the gay plain 14T 

Ye shepherds give ear to my lay 89 

Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay . - 82 

Ye virgin Powers defend my heart - 325 

Yes, I'm in love, I feel it now - - 204 

You tell me I'm handsome, I know not how true 294 

Young I am, and yet unskill'd - - 156 



4 

[ xxii ] 

NAMES OF AUTHORS, 

WITH REFERENCES. 



Addison, 189, 
Akenside, 334. 

Earbauld, Mrs. 112, 114, 116, 232, 234, 247, 251, 

253, 254. 
Berkeley, 151, 
Booth, Barton, 265. 
Brook, Lord, 264. 
Brown, Tom, 240. 
Bradley, 326, 

Buckingham, Sheffield D. of, 133. 
Burgoyne, 309. 
Byrom, 268. 

Campbell, 297. 

Carey, Henry, 146, 282, 285. 

Carlyle, 276, 277, 299. 

Carter, 155. 

Chesterfield, E. of, 210. 

Collins, 140. 

Congreve, 192, 193, 196, 209. 

Cooper, Gilbert, 159, 314, 315. 

Cowley, 227. 

Cowper, 281. 

Croxall, 125. 

Cunningham, 80, 91. 

Dorset, E. of, 132,141,291. 



NAMES OF AUTHORS. xxiii 



Dryden, 104, 138,328. 
Dryden, Charles, 235. 



Elliott, Sir G. 26T. 
Etheridge, 148, 191. 

Falconer, 307. 

Gay, 56, 58, 60. 
Garrick, 333. 
Goldsmith, 42, 142. 

Hamilton, 103, 129, 14T. 
Herrick, 305. 
How, John, 194. 

Jenyns, Soame, 117, 202. 
Jones, Sir W. 313. 
Jonson, Ben, 263. 

King (Bp. of Chichester), 324. 

Lansdowne, Lord, 136, 154, 211. 

Lee, 124 

Lisle, 211. 

Logan, 272. 

Lyttelton, Lord 107, 109, 191. 

Mallett, 53, 73. 

Marlow, 302. 

Marvell, 225. 

Mason, 275. 

Milton, 327. 

Montague, Lady M. W. 200. 

Moore, E. 274, 294, 295. 



xxir NAMES OF AUTHORS. 

Otway, 1ST, 298. 

Farnell, 149,-331. 
Percy, 37, 161. 
Phillips, 101, 187, 188, 199. 
Pilkinston, Rev. M. 340. 



■ Mrs. 231, 346. 

Prior, 67, 105, 106, 108, 215. 
Pulteney, 212. 

Raleigh, 261, 303. 
Rochester, E. of 131, 203, 329. 
Rowe, 62, 65, 139. 

Scott, Walter, 337. 
Sedley, 150, 190, 197. 
Shakspeare, 259, 260, 261. 
Shenstone, 77, 82, 84, 87, 89, 195. 
Sheridan, 279, 280, 310, 311, 314, 342. 
Smollett, 102, 128. 
Steel, 143, 199. 
Suckling, 228, 330. 

Taylor, Mrs. 238, 325. 
Theobald, 134. 
Thomson, 306. 
Tickell, 49. 

Vanbrugh, 284. 

Waller, 223, 237. 
Walsh, 219. 
Way, 318. 
Whitehead, 204, 316. 

Yonge, Sir W. 201, 241. 



THE 

ORIGIN OF SONG-WRITING. 

Addressed to Dr. Aikin. 
[Mrs. Barbauld.] 

Illic indocto primum se exercuit arcu ; 
Hei mihi quam doctas nunc habet ille manus ! 

Tibullus. 

When Cupid, wanton boy, was young, 
His wings unfledg'd, and rude his tongue,, 
He loiter' d in Arcadian bowers, 
And hid his bow in wreaths of flowers ; 
Or pierc'd some fond unguarded heart, 
With now and then a random dart -, 
But heroes scorn'd the idle boy, 
And love was but a shepherd's toy : 
When Venus, vex'd to see her child 
Amid the forests thus run wild, 
Would point him out some nobler game, 
Gods, and godlike men to tame. 
She seiz'd the boy's reluctant hand, 
And led him to the virgin band, 
Where the sister Muses round 
Swell the deep majestic sound ; 
And in solemn strains unite, 
Breathing chaste, severe delight ; 
e 



xxvi ORIGIN OF SONG- WRITING. 

Songs of chiefs, and heroes old, 
In unsubmitting virtue bold ; 
Of even valour's temperate heat, 
And toils to stubborn patience sweet ; 
Of nodding plumes, and burnish'd arms, 
And glory's bright terrific charms. 
The potent sounds like lightning dart 
Resistless thro' the glowing heart; 
Of power to lift the fixed soul 
High o'er fortune's proud controul ; 
Kindling deep, prophetic musing; 
Love of beauteous death infusing; 
Scorn, and^ unconquerable hate 
Of tyrant pride's unhallow'd state. 
The boy abash 'd, and half afraid, 
Beheld each chaste immortal maid \ 
Pallas spread her Egis there ; 
Mars stood by with threatening air ; 
And stern Diana's icy look 
With sudden chill his bosom struck. 

Daughters of Jove, receive the child, 
The queen of beauty said, and smil'd j 
Her rosy breath perfum'd the air, 
And scatter 'd sweet contagion there 5 
Relenting nature learn'd to languish ; 
And sicken'd with delightful anguish : 
Receive him, artless yet and young ; 
Refine his air, and smooth his tongue : 



ORIGIN OF SONG-WRITING. xxvii 

Conduct him thro' your fav'rite bowers, 
Enrich'd with fair perennial flowers, 
To solemn shades and springs that lie 
Remote from each unhallow'd eye ; 
Teach him to spell those mystic names 
That kindle bright immortal flames ; 
And guide his young unpractised feet 
To reach coy learning's lofty seat. 

Ah, luckless hour ! mistaken maids ! 

When Cupid sought the Muses' shades : 

Of their sweetest notes beguil'd, 

By the sly insidious child ; 

Now of power his darts are found, 

Twice ten thousand times to wound. 

Now no more the slacken 'd strings 

Breathes of high immortal things, 

But Cupid tunes the Muse's lyre 

To languid notes of soft desire. 

In ev'ry clime, in ev'ry tongue, 

*Tis love inspires the poet's song : 

Hence Sappho's soft infectious page; 

Monimia's woe ; Othello's rage ; 

Abandon'd Dido's fruitless prayer ; 

And Eloisa's long despair : 

The garland bless'd with many a vow, 

For haughty Sacharissa's brow ; 

And, wash'd with tears, the mournful verse 

That Petrarch laid on Laura's herse. 



xxviii ORIGIN OF SONG- WRITING. 

But more than all the sister quire, 
Music confessed the pleasing fire. 
Here sovereign Cupid reign'd alone ; 
Music and Song were all his own. 
Sweet as in old Arcadian plains, 
The British pipe has caught the strains ; 
And where the Tweed's pure current glides, 
Or lofty rolls her limpid tides, 
Or Thames his oozy waters leads 
Thro' rural howers, or yellow meads, 
With many an old romantic tale 
Has cheer'd the lone sequester'd vale, 
With many a sweet and tender lay 
Deceiv'd the tiresome summer day. 

Tis your's to cull with happy art 
Each meaning verse that speaks the heart, 
And fair array'd, in order meet, 
To lay the wreath at Beauty's feet. 



ESSAY 



ON 



SONG-WRITING IN GENERAL. 



W h i l e the two capital species of 
poetry, the epic and dramatic, have long 
engaged the nicest attention of taste and 
criticism, the humbler but not less pleas- 
ing productions of the Muse have not 
obtained that notice from the critic to 
which the exertions of the poet would 
seem to entitle them. This will appear 
the more extraordinary when we reflect 
that some of the most excellent produc- 
tions in the former have been the sponta- 
neous growth of a rude and uncultivated 

B 



2 ON SONG- WRITING 

soil, whereas the latter have never flou- 
rished without acquired richness in the 
soil and the fostering hand of art. This 
critical neglect has given rise to uncer- 
tainty in the distinctions, and irregularity 
in the composition of most of the minor 
classes of poetry ; and while the long 
established divisions of ode, elegy, and 
epigram, are involved in these difficulties, 
it is not a matter of wonder to meet with 
them in the modern pieces which range 
under the general title of Songs. 

Although many of our most celebrated 
poets have exercised their talents in com- 
posing these little pieces, and their pleas- 
ing effect is universally known and ac- 
knowledged, yet have we but one pro- 
fessed criticism on their composition ; 
and this, though elegant and ingenious, 
is both too short and too superficial to 
give precision and accuracy to our ideas 
on this subject. It is contained in a 
paper of the Guardian, written by Mr. 
Phillips. 

In attempting the task of determining 



IN GENERAL. 3 

with exactness the nature of song-writ- 
ing, and the various distinctions of which 
it is susceptible, together with the specific 
excellence of each, I find it therefore 
necessary to go far back into the origin 
of poetry in general, and to recur to those 
first principles existing in the human 
mind, which alone can give a firm foun- 
dation to our deductions. 

The original poetry of all nations must 
have been very much confined to the de- 
scription of external objects, and the 
narration of events. This is a necessary 
consequence of the barrenness of infant 
language with regard to abstract ideas, 
and is confirmed by the remains of anti- 
quity which have reached us. Among a 
fierce and warlike people constantly en- 
gaged in enterprises of arms, poetry was 
solely employed in rehearsing the valo- 
rous deeds of their heroes ; and the 
horrid pictures of w r ar and desolation 
were enlivened by the kindred ima- 
gery of whatever nature afforded of the 
awful, terrific and stupendous. In happier 



4 ON SONG WRITING 

regions, where the mild inhabitants were 
suited to the softness and luxury of the 
climate, the business of poetry was to 
paint the surrounding profusion of beau- 
tiful objects, the pleasing incidents of a 
pastoral life, the tender cares and ravish- 
ing delights of love. This passion found 
as apt a comparison with the beautiful 
scenes of nature, as war and destruction 
could do with its glooms and horrors. 

Ossian and Theocritus will afford com- 
plete instances of the first poetry in its 
two different branches. Mingling storms, 
roaring torrents, swelling oceans, light- 
ning and thunder, paint the dreadful 
battle pieces of the Caledonian ; while 
the murmuring brook, the green meadow, 
the bleating flock, the simple shepherd 
and his artless fair, deck out the rural 
landscape of the Grecian. Thus heroic 
and pastoral poetry are at first formed, 
consisting chiefly of description and ima- 
gery. The passion of military glory in 
the one, and of love in the other, would 
indeed add sentiment to the picture, bu't 



IN GENERAL. 5 

even these sentiments must be expressed 
by a reference to external objects. The 
lover who had sought for natural compa- 
risons to paint the charms of his mistress, 
must seek for others to express the emo- 
tions of his mind. He must burn with 
desire, and. freeze with disdain ; rage with 
the ocean, and sigh with the zephyr ; hope 
must enlighten him with its rays, and de- 
spair darken him with its glooin. The 
effects which the passions produce upon 
the body, would also prove a happy source 
of the description of emotions. Thus, the 
fluttering pulse, the changing colour, the 
feverish glow, the failing heart, and the 
confused senses, being natural and inva- 
riable symptoms of the passion of love, 
would soon be observed by the poet, and 
successfully used to heighten his descrip- 
tion. Hitherto all is simple and natural, 
and poetry, so far from being the art of 
fiction, is the faithful copyist of external 
objects and real emotions. But the mind 
of man cannot long be confined within 
prescribed limits ; there is an internal eye 



6 ON SONG-WRITING 

constantly stretching its view beyond the 
bounds of natural vision, and something 
new, something greater, more beautiful, 
more excellent, is required to gratify its 
noble longing. This eye of the mind is the 
imagination — it peoples the world with 
new beings, it embodies abstract ideas, 
it suggests unexpected resemblances, it 
creates first, and then presides over its 
creation with absolute sway. Not less 
accurately and philosophically, than poeti- 
cally, has our great Shakspeare described 
this faculty in the following lines. 

The Poet's eye in a fine phrenzy rolling 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
And as imagination bodies forth 
The form of things unknown, the Poet's pen 
Turns them to shape, and gives to aery nothing 
A local habitation and a name. 

The most essential differences in poeti- 
cal composition may be referred to the cir- 
cumstance of its turning upon nature or 
fiction, and on this will depend its fitness 
or unfitness to produce peculiar effects. 



IN GENERAL. 7 

In genera], whatever is designed to move 
the passions, cannot be too natural and 
simple. It is also evident, that when the 
professed design of the poet is to paint 
the beauties of nature and the rural land- 
scape of pastoral life, he must give as 
great an air of reality as possible to his 
piece, since a bad imitation necessarily 
produces disgust. On the other hand, 
when the aim is to elevate and surprise, 
to gratify a love of novelty, and the pleas- 
ing luxury of indulging the fancy > all the 
powers of fiction must be set at work, and 
the imagination employed without con- 
trol to create new images, and discover 
uncommon resemblances and connections. 
To pursue our instance taken from the 
passion of love ; the poet who wishes 
rather to please and surprise than to move, 
will ransack heaven and earth for objects 
of brilliant and unusual comparison with 
every circumstance relating to the pas- 
sion itself or its object. He will not value 
sentiment as the real offspring of an emo- 
tion, but as susceptible of ingenious turns, 



8 ON SONG-WRITING 

striking contrasts and pleasing allusions. 
He will not compose from the heart but 
the head, and will consult his imagination 
rather than his sensations. This quality 
is peculiarly termed wit, and a just taste 
for it is never acquired without a consi- 
derable degree of national refinement. 
Pieces of wit are therefore later in their 
date than any others. 

This brief account of the progress of 
poetry in general being premised, let us 
proceed to a nearer inspection of our sub- 
ject. 

In attempting to fix a meaning to the 
word song, the first idea which strikes us 
arises from its name, signifying some- 
thing to be sung. We shall discuss this 
a little at large. 

The union of music with poetry must 
appear extremely natural. We find it to 
have taken place universally in the uncul- 
tivated state of all nations, and to have 
continued partially in the most refined. 
In all languages the words expressing 
vocal music have been also used indiscri- 



IN GENERAL. 9 

minately to signify poetry ; and though 
we at present consider such expressions 
as figurative, there is no doubt but they 
were originally natural. The sacred name 
of song was not then prostituted to a suc- 
cession of unmeaning sounds tortured 
into music through the odious pipe of an 
equivocal mutilated animal ; it was a ge- 
neral term to express all that the sister 
Muses of poetry and melody could com- 
bine to delight the ear, and ravish the 
heart. This enchanting union is now in 
great measure dissolved, yet I will ven- 
ture to assert that it was not poetry, but 
her less sentimental companion, music 
who began the separation. The luxury of 
artificial harmony, taking place of the 
simple graces of melody, rendered instru- 
mental music chiefly sought after, and 
the assistance of poetry in consequence 
unnecessary. The present age is charac- 
terised by a languid, sensual indolence, 
averse even in its pleasures to any thing 
that requires attention of the mind. The 
ear, instead of being an avenue to the 



10 ON SONG WRITING 

heart, expects to be gratified merely as 
an organ of sense, and the heroine, poetry, 
must give place to the harlot, music. 
And when the latter has deigned to borrow 
the vehicle of words, she has shown by 
her choice that she has regarded poetry 
rather as a burden upon her exertions 
than an assistant. 

The term song may therefore be con- 
sidered in a double sense — if the idea of 
music prevails, it signifies no more than a 
set of words calculated for adaptation to 
a tune : if poetry be the principal object, 
it is a species of poetical composition re- 
gulated by peculiar laws, and susceptible 
of a certain definition; still however re- 
taining so much of the musical idea, as 
to make it an essential circumstance, that 
by a regularly returning measure it be 
capable of being set to a tune. 

A song, as a poetical composition, may 
be defined, a short piece, divided into 
returning portions of measure, and formed 
upon a single incident, thought, or senti- 
ment. Under this definition the general 



IN GENERAL. 11 

subject from which the particular topic is 
taken is not restricted ; but it has been 
found that emotions of tenderness and 
gaiety are peculiarly adapted to song- 
writing. Custom therefore has almost 
solely confined the general subject of 
songs to love and wine, and it must be 
acknowledged that the nature of the com- 
position, and the assistance of music, con- 
tribute to give these subjects a peculiar 
air of gracefulness and propriety. 

A number of distinctions have been 
formed in modern poetry from trifling 
particularities in the versification of these 
pieces, such as the number of lines com- 
posing a stanza, the repetition of a line 
at regular distances, the ordonnance of 
the rhyme, and the like. 

The laborious Baron Bielfield, in his 
Eleme?its of universal Erudition,ha.s thought 
it -worth while to particularize a great va- 
riety of these distinctions in French poe- 
try, such as the Sonnet, the Rondeau, the 
Vaudeville, &c. I cannot but consider 
these petty diversities as very unessential 



12 ON SONG-WRITING 

to the poetical character of any compo- 
sition ; this cursory mention is therefore 
all the notice I shall bestow on them. 

If we examine the poetical remains of 
antiquity, we shall find various examples 
of pieces which come under the forego- 
ing description of a song. That beautiful 
relique of Sappho, which is well known to 
the English reader, by Mr. Phillips's ex- 
cellent translation, 

a Blest as the immortal Gods is he," &c. 

is an exact model of song-writinp\ The 
poems of the gay and sprightly Anacreon 
are almost all songs in every respect, ex- 
cept the measure, which instead of being 
divided into returning stanzas, is uni- 
form. Yet this would not necessarily 
disqualify it for musical adaptation, and 
there is no doubt but they were really 
sung and accompanied with instrumental 
music. The Odes of Horace contain 
many beautiful specimens of the song 
complete in every circumstance. All 
these pieces are handed down to us under 



IN GENERAL. 13 

the denomination of Lyric poetry, the 
nature of which, as intimately connected 
with our subject, it will be proper to ex- 
amine with some attention. 

The union of music and poety among 
the ancients was very strict- It would 
seem that they had no idea of the music 
of sounds without words, and they appear 
seldom or never to have used vocal music 
without accompaniment with instrumen- 
tal. The lyre was the favourite instru- 
ment for this purpose, and hence that 
species of poetry designed to be sung to 
music acquired the denomination of Lyric. 
Yet we have variety of proof that this 
term is applied with equal propriety to 
poetry accompanied with any other in- 
strument. Horace abounds with such 
instances — it will be sufficient to refer to 
his first ode 

■ si neque tibias 



Euterpe cohibet, nee Polyhymnia 
Lesboura refugit tendere barbiton. 

Immediately after, to fix the class of 
poets to which he belongs, he says 



14 ON SONG WRITING 

Quod si me Lyricis vatibus inseres. 

To ansM'er this purpose of musical 
adaptation, Lyric poetry lias always been 
in possession of a variety of measures, 
differing indeed greatly among them- 
selves, but all very distinguishable from 
the stately regular march of heroics, and 
the languid inequality of elegy. Thus 
the Anacreontic is smart and lively, the 
Sapphic tender and melodious, the irre- 
gular Pindaric suited to the sudden 
changes and unbounded flights of the 
wild various music of the passions. Ho- 
race affords a fine profusion of regularly 
returning measures suited to all the vari- 
eties of musical expression, many of 
which one can scarcely read without fall- 
ing into a natural music. 

So far Lyric poetry is characterised by 
its manner of composition ; will it also 
admit of a Character from the nature of 
its subjects? It has been already ob- 
served that the pieces of Sappho and 
Anacreon are formed entirely upon gay 



IN GENERAL. 15 

and amorous topics. A beautiful variety 
of poems of this cast is to be met with in 
Horace, and he frequently mentions the 
peculiar suitableness of them to the Lyric 
muse. Thus 

Nos coimvia, nos prselia virginum 
Strictis in jurenes unguibus acrium 
Cantamus ......... ... 

Nolis Ionga ferae bella Nuniantiae, 
Nee dirum Hannibalem, nee Siculum mare 
Pceno purpureum sanguine, mollibus 
Aplari citharae raodis. 



Non hoc jocos33 conveniet lyrae. 

Quo Musa tendis ? desine pervicax 
Referre sermones Deorura, et 
Magna modis tenuare parvis. 

But what must we think of these de- 
clarations when he nobly breaks out 
" Quern virum aut heroa," &c. when he 
undertakes with such success to sing the 
great actions of Augustus, the praises of 
Drusus, and the poetical character of 
Pindar, with Pindar's own fire and sub- 



16 ON SONG WRITING 

limity? In that beautiful ode, the 9th 
of the 4th book, where he sketches out 
the Grecian bards, his predecessors in 
Lyric poetry, we find the 

Ceaeque, Alceique minaces 
Stesichorique graves Camenae, 

as well as the wanton gaiety of Anacreon 
and the amorous softness of the Lesbian 
maid. One of the oldest pieces of Gre- 
cian Lyric poetry extant, is a heroic ode 
sung by the Athenians at their public 
feasts in commemoration of Harmodius 
and Aristogiton. The odes of Pindar ce- 
lebrate the victors at Olympic games, 
and the hymns of Callimachus rise to the 
praises of the Gods. 

From these instances it appears that 
Lyric poetry does not admit of any dis- 
tinguishing characteristic from its sub- 
ject, but merely from the circumstance 
of its accompaniment with music : thus 
Horace briefly defines it " verba socianda 
chordis." But this circumstance will in 
some measure influence the choice of a 



IN GENERAL. 17 

subject, as it is evident that long conti- 
nued narration, the didactic part of any 
art or science, and satire are not suitable 
topics for a species of poetry which above 
all others is calculated to please, elevate, 
and surprise. 

If we now compare the idea here given 
of Lyric poetry, with what was before 
observed concerning song- writing, it will 
plainly appear that the latter is one 
branch of the former ; that, to wit, which 
in its subject is confined to gaiety and 
tenderness, or, to express it classically, 
the Sapphic and Anacreontic. The graver 
and subiirner strains of the Lyric Muse 
are exemplified in the modern ode, a spe- 
cies of composition which admits of the 
boldest flights of poetical enthusiasm, and 
the wildest creations of the imagination, 
and requires the assistance of every figure 
that can adorn language, and raise it 
above its ordinary pitch. 

Critics have very commonly lamented 
that the moderns fall short of the ancients 
more particularly in this species of poetry 
c * 



18 ON SONG-WRITING 

than in any other; yet, did it belong to 
my present subject, I should not despair 
of convincing an impartial reader, that 
the English names of Dryden, Gray, 
Akenside, Mason, Collins, Warton, are 
not inferior in real poetical elevation to 
the most renowned Grecian or Roman 
antiquity can produce. The modern ode 
and the song are in general distinguish- 
able by their subject, by the different 
degree of elevation and ornament in the 
language, and by a greater length and 
irregularity in the measure of the former, 
which is not adapted to vocal music. Yet 
as these distinctions are rather relative 
than absolute, it is easy to see that they 
may approach each others limits so as to 
render it dubious under which class they 
range, which would be the case with many 
of Horace's odes if converted to English 
poems. 

We are now prepared to make use of 
the general deduction of the progress of 
the mind through the different stages of 
poetical composition, formerly attempted, 



IN GENERAL. 19 

in forming an arrangement of songs into 
a few distinct classes. 

The rude original pastoral poetry of 
our country furnishes the first class in 
the popular pieces called Ballads. These 
consist of the Village Tale, the Dialogue 
of Rustic Courtship, the Description of 
Natural Objects, and the Incidents of a 
Rural Life. Their language is the lan- 
guage of nature, simple and unadorned ; 
their story is not the wild offspring of 
fancy, but the probable adventure of the 
cottage ; and their sentiments are the 
unstudied expressions of passions and 
emotions common to all mankind. 

Nature, farther refined, but still nature, 
gives the second class of pieces contain- 
ing the sentimental part of the former, 
abstracted from the Tale and Rural Land- 
scape, and improved by a more studied 
observation of the internal feelings of 
passion and their external symptoms. 
It is the natural philosophy of the mind, 
and the description of sensations. Here 
love appears in all its various forms of 



20 ON SONG-WRITING 

desire, doubt, jealousy, hope, despair; 
and suggests a language, rich, strong, and 
figurative. This is what may strictly be 
called the pathetic in poetry. 

The third class is formed upon an arti- 
ficial turn of thinking, and the operation 
■of the -fancy. Here the sentiments arise 
from cool reflection and curious specula- 
tion, rather than from a present emotion. 
They accordingly require enlivening by 
ingenious comparison, striking contrast, 
unexpected turns, a climax finishing in a 
point, and all the pleasing refinements of 
art which give the denomination of inge- 
nious and witty to our conceptions. Some 
essential distinctions will appear in this 
class arising from the various kinds of 
wit-; but they all agree in the circum- 
stance of springing rather from fancy 
than passion, and consequently of excit- 
ing pleasure and surprise rather than the 
sympathetic emotions. 

It is observable that it is this class alone 
which answers the idea Mr. Phillips gives 
.of song-writing in his little Essay; and 



IN GENERAL. 21 

hence he has been betrayed into a little 
inconsistency ; for while he compares 
song-writing in general to the gay and 
amorous species of ancient Lyric poetry, 
he refers us to the French Songs, as ex- 
amples of perfection, which are almost 
solely of the witty and ingenious kind, 
and totally different from most of the re- 
mains of antiquity. In particular, the 
little epigrammatic song which he there 
cites and translates, is so entirely dissi- 
milar to the celebrated piece of Sappho 
which he has so happily made his own, 
that it is wonderful the distinction did 
not strike him. 

I shall just farther remark with regard to 
the proposed arrangement of our collec- 
tion, that when genius is left to itself with- 
out fixed laws to conduct it, each different 
species of writing is so apt by impercep- 
tible gradations to slide into the next in 
kindred, that it is frequently impossible 
for the critic to preserve his classes pure 
and free from mixture, without a too 
scrupulous rejection of pieces really beau- 



22 ON SONG-WRITING, &c. 

tiful, though somewhat faulty in regula- 
rity. The reader will easily perceive, 
and I hope make proper allowances for 
several instances of equivocal arrange- 
ment, which from this cause I have not 
been able to avoid. 



[23 ] 



ESSAY 



ON 



BALLADS AND PASTORAL SONGS. 



1 h e Ballad may be considered as the 
native species of Poetry of this country. 
It very exactly answers the idea formerly 
given of original Poetry, being the rude 
uncultivated verse in which the popular 
tale of the times was recorded. As our 
ancestors partook of the fierce warlike 
character of the northern nations, the 
subjects of their Poetry would chiefly 
consist of the martial exploits of their 
heroes, and the military events of national 
history, deeply tinctured with that passion 



24 ON BALLADS AND 

for the marvellous, and that superstitious 
credulity, which always attend a state of 
ignorance and barbarism. Many of the 
antient Ballads have been transmitted to 
the present times, and in them the char- 
acter of the nation displays itself in strik- 
ing colours. The boastful history of her 
victories, the prowess of her favourite 
kings and captains, and the wonderful 
adventures of the legendary saint and 
knight errant, are the topics of the rough 
rhyme and unadorned narration which 
was ever the delight of the vulgar, and is 
now an object of curiosity to the anti- 
quarian and man of taste. As it is not 
my design to collect pieces of this sort, 
which is already done in a very elegant 
manner by Dr. Percy, in his Reliques of 
Ancient English Poetry, I shall proceed to 
consider the Ballad more as an artificial 
than a natural species of composition. 

When language became refined, and 
poetical taste elevated, by an acquaintance 
with the Greek and Latin authors, the 
subjects of the Epic Muse were no longer 



PASTORAL SONGS 25 

drest in the homely garb of the popular 
Ballad, but assumed the borrowed orna- 
ment and stately air of heroic poetry; 
and every poetical attempt in the sublime 
and beautiful cast was an imitation of the 
classic models. The native Poetry of 
the country was reserved merely for the 
humourous and burlesque; and the term 
Ballad was brought by custom to signify 
a comic story, told in low familiar lan- 
guage, and accompanied with a droll tri- 
vial tune. It was much used by the wits 
of the time as a vehicle for laughable 
ridicule, and mirthful satire ; and a great 
variety of the most pleasing specimens of 
this kind of writing is to be found in the 
Ballads of the witty aera of English genius, 
which I take to be comprehended be- 
tween the beginning of Charles the Se- 
cond's reign, and the times of Swift and 
Prior. Since that period the genius of the 
age has chiefly been characterised by the 
correct, elegant, and tender; and a real 
or affected taste for beautiful simplicity 
has almost universally prevailed. This 



26 ON BALLADS AND 

has produced several imitations of the 
ancient Ballad as a serious composition, 
turned however in its general subject 
from the story of martial adventure to 
the pathetic tale of the peaceful village. 
It is a just taste, founded upon real obser- 
vation of nature, which enjoins simplicity 
of expression in every attempt to engage 
the sympathetic emotions ; we have many 
delightful examples of its success, and I 
hope in this collection to prove by some 
powerful appeals to the heart, how sweetly 
the ancient Ballad, judiciously imitated, 
is adapted to this purpose. A delicate 
sense of propriety, and nice judgment are 
required to conduct the plan of simplicity 
in such a manner as to retain all its beau- 
ties without sinking into insipidity or dis- 
gustful vulgarity. In general, we should 
aim at it rather by dropping all ornament 
and glitter, than by putting on an affected 
rusticity, and making use of antiquated 
expressions. We should be particularly 
careful that simplicity reigns in the 
thoughts as well as the language, a very 



PASTORAL SONG£. 27 

essential piece of uniformity; which yet 
some writers of eminence have not always 
observed. If the piece be narrative, such 
circumstances of the story as tell it in the 
most striking manner are to be held out 
to view, and their effect is not to be in- 
terrupted by simile or metaphor, or any 
of the artificial prettinesses of language 
that may fall in his way. They have no 
business here; they do not accord with 
that string of the soul which is here to be 
struck. 

As it is absolutely essential to all imita- 
tions of the ancient Ballad, that the story 
on which they are founded, with all its 
circumstances and manners, should be per- 
fectly natural, and appropriated to our 
own soil, I cannot include several pieces 
of the pastoral kind under the title of 
Ballads, though very nearly resembling 
them in point of simplicity and style of 
composition. Pastoral Poetry is a native 
o;f happier climates, where the face of 
nature, and the manners of the people 
are widely different from those of our 



28 ON BALLADS AND 

northern regions. What is reality on the 
soft Arcadian and Sicilian plains, is all 
fiction here ; and though by reading we 
may be so familiarized to these imaginary 
scenes as to acquire a sort of natural taste 
for them, yet, like the fine fruits of the 
south, they will never be so far naturalized 
to the soil, as to flourish without borrowed 
warmth and forced culture. The justice 
of this observation is sufficiently proved, 
by the ill success of those attempts in the 
mixed pastoral, where the rude speech 
and rough manners of our English hinds 
have been engrafted upon the foreign 
poetical character of the shepherd swain. 
This gave occasion to Pope's well known 
ridicule of Phillips ; and it is this incon- 
gruity of character which is the foundation 
of the burlesque in Gay's Shepherd's PTeek, 
in which some natural strokes of beautiful 
simplicity and the real pathetic are de- 
signedly paired in so odd a manner with 
humour and parody, that one is at a loss 
whether to take it as jest or earnest — 
whether to laugh or cry. Indeed this 



PASTORAL SONGS. 29 

effect is also produced in his two dramatic 
burlesques, the Beggar's Opera, and What 
d'ye Call it ; for how ludicrous soever the 
general character of the piece may be, 
when he comes so near to hanging and 
shooting in good earnest, the joke ceases ; 
and I have observed the tolling of St. 
Pulchre's bell received by an audience 
with as much tragical attention, and sym- 
pathetic terror as that in Venice Pre- 
served. 

No attempt to naturalize pastoral poetry 
appears to have succeeded better than 
Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd : it has a con- 
siderable air of reality, and the descrip- 
tive parts, in general, are in the genuine 
taste of beautiful simplicity. Yet the 
sentiments and manners are far from being 
entirely proper to the characters ; and 
while some descend so low as to be dis- 
gustful, others are elevated far beyond 
nature. The real character of a Scottish 
or English shepherd is by much too coarse 
for Poetry. I suspect Ramsay gains a 
great advantage among us by writing in 



30 ON BALLADS AND 

the Scotch dialect : this not being fami- 
]iar to us, and scarcely understood, softens 
the harsher parts, and gives a kind of 
foreign air that eludes the critic's seve- 
rity. Some writers, in aiming at a natural 
simplicity of sentiment, have sunk into 
silliness, and have given their characters 
not only the innocence, but the weakness 
of a child. In that admirable piece of 
burlesque criticism, the Bathos of Scri- 
blerus, are some ludicrous instances of 
puerility of sentiment and expression from 
Phillips's Pastorals, and, I confess, this 
fault to me appears palpable in a piece 
which, by being introduced to notice in 
the Spectator, is universally known and 
admired — I mean the pastoral song of 
Colin and Phoebe. 

There is one point in which a pastoral 
writer of any country may venture to fol- 
low nature exactly, and with a minute 
nicety: this is in the scenery and de- 
scription. Natural objects are scarcely 
ever disgusting; and there is no country 
so unblessed as to be unprovided with an 



PASTORAL SONGS. 31 

ample store of beauties, which must ever 
please in an accurate representation, inde- 
pendently on all fashion or peculiarity of 
taste. It is unpardonable in a poet to 
borrow these from any fountain but na- 
ture herself, and hereby he will most 
certainly avoid the mistakes and incon- 
gruity of imagery, which they are so apt 
to fall into who describe from ideas gained 
by reading rather than observation. The 
preservation of propriety in this respect 
is of capital importance in description, 
since nothing so effectually ruins the 
beauty of picturesque scenery, as the in- 
troduction of any circumstance which 
tends to falsify it. It awakens the mind 
from her dream of fancy, and the " base- 
less fabric of the vision" instantly va- 
nishes. An ingenious critic has instanced 
this fault from Milton's Comus, where in 
the Spirit's address to Sabrina, after very 
properly wishing, 

May thy brimmed wares for this 
Their full tribute never miss, 
Summer's drought or singed air 
Never scorch thy tresses fair, 



32 ON BALLADS AND 

He adds, 

May thy billows roll ashore 
The beryl and the golden ore, 

And here and there thy banks along 
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon ; 

which have no propriety when applied to 
an English river. It gives me pleasure 
to instance the opposite beauty. Michael 
Drayton, an old English poet, in a pasto- 
ral song entitled Dowsabel, describes his 
shepherdess in the following comparisons. 

Her features all as fresh above, 

As is the grasse that grows by Dove, 

And lyth as lasse of Kent : 
Her skin as soft as Lemster wool, 
As white as snow on Peakish Hull, 

Or swanne that swims in Trent. 

He goes on in the story, 

This mayden in a morn betime 

Went forth, when May was in her prime, ' 

To get sweet cetywall ; 
The honey-suckle, the harloeke, 
The lily and the lady smocke, 

To deck her summer hall. 



AND PASTORAL SONGS. 33 

It is impossible for description to be more 
lively, or more consistently proper. 

That there is still room for novelty in 
this walk has lately been agreeably shown 
in the pastorals of Mr. Smith, the Land- 
scape painter, which, however unequal 
and deficient in harmony and correctness, 
have infinitely more merit than Pope's 
melodious echoes of echo. Mr. Smith's 
pieces will also illustrate my former re- 
mark, that the manners and sentiments 
of our rural vulgar cannot be rendered 
pleasing subjects for poetry ; for where 
he paints them most naturally they are 
least agreeable. 

This then appears to be the rule of 
taste for modern pastoral writers — to be 
general in character and sentiment, but 
particular in description The poetical 
shepherd and shepherdess are characters 
of great uniformity ; for,, the originals 
having been long extinct, all have copied 
after the same models. The passion of 
love is the eternal source of pastoral sen- 
timent, and however various it may be 

B 



34 ON BALLADS AND 

in its nature, all its changes and intrica- 
cies must surely be at length explored, 
after it has in so many ages and countries 
exercised the utmost abilities of human 
genius. 

Nothing therefore remains to produce 
novelty, but a variation of circumstances, 
whether relating to the subjects of the 
passion, or the accompanying scenery. 
The pastoral song formed upon the Ballad 
model, is capable of being made the most 
pleasing piece of the pastoral kind. The 
simplicity of language gives it an air of 
nature and reality, though the fictitious 
character be entirely kept up ; and throw- 
ing the subject into a little tale, gives an 
opportunity of novelty in description 
from the variety of incidents. When the 
story has a tender and mournful turn, the 
ballad simplicity has a peculiarly happy 
effect. Perhaps the English alone, of all 
the moderns, have known how to unite 
the most perfect simplicity with real ele- 
gance and poetical expression ; and it is to 
be hoped we shall never want taste to 



PASTORAL SONGS 85 

relish the beauties of this kind that we are 
possessed of. The little collection of 
Ballads and Pastoral Songs here offered, 
contains some of the sweetest flowers of 
English poetry. 



BALLADS 



AND 



PASTORAL SONGS. 



FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 

[By Percy.] 

I t was a friar of orders gray,* 

Walk'd forth to tell his beads ; 
And he met with a lady fair, 

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. 

* In the Reltques of ancient English Poetry, Dr. Percy 
gives us the following Ballad, as formed upon a number of 
detached fragments of ancient composition, which he has 
attempted to fill up and throw into a little connected tale. 
Though his modesty has induced him to place it among 
his antique remains, I think it but justice to him and to my 
own collection to place it here as a very judicious and 
beautiful imitation of the ancient Ballad ; for certainly he 
has the best right to it, since the merit of the story is all 
his own, and the difficulty of interweaving the few ancient 
stanzas into it, and suiting his own language to them with 
such judgment, was greater than that of producing an en- 
tirely new piece. 



38 BALLADS AND 

Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, 

I pray thee tell to me, 
If ever at yon holy shrine 

My true love thou did'st see. 

And how should I know your true love 

From many another one ? 
O by his cockle* hat and staff, 

And by his sandal shoon. 

But chiefly by his face and mien, 

That were so fair to view 3 
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, 

And eyne of lovely blue. 

O lady he is dead and gone ! 

Lady he's dead and gone ! 
And at his head a green grass turf, 

And at his heels a stone. 

Within these holy cloisters long 

He languished, and he died, 
Lamenting of a lady's love, 

And 'plaining of her pride. 

* These are the distinguishing marks of a Pilgrim. 
The chief places of devotion being beyond the sea, the pil- 
grims were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to 
denote the intention, or performance of their devetion. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 39 

Here bore him barefac'd on his bier 

Six proper youths and tali, 
And many a tear bedew'd his grave 

Within yon kirk-yard wall. 

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth ! 

And art thou dead and gone ! 
And did'st thou die for love of me ! 

Break, cruel heart of stone ! 

O weep not, lady, weep not so ; 

Some ghostly comfort seek : 
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 

Nor tears bedew thy cheek. 

O do not, do not, holy friar, 

My sorrow now reprove } 
For I have lost the sweetest youth, 

That e'er won lady's love. 

And now, alas ! for thy sad loss 

I'll evermore weep and sigh ; 
For thee I only wish'd to live, 

For thee I wish to die. 

Weep no more, lady, weep no more, 

Thy sorrow is in vain : 
For, violets pluck'd the sweetest showers 

Will ne'er make grow again. 



40 BALLADS AND 

Our joys as winged dreams do fly, 
Why then should sorrow last ? 

Since grief but aggravates thy loss, 
Grieve not for what is past. 

O say not so, thou holy friar ; 

I pray thee, say not so : 
For since my true love died for me, 

'Tis meet my tears should flow. 

And will he ne'er come again ? 

Will he ne'er come again ? 
Ah ! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, 

For ever to remain. 

His cheek was redder than the rose, 
The com'liest youth was he : 

But he is dead, and laid in his grave : 
Alas ! and woe is me ! 

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, 

Men were deceivers ever : 
One foot on sea, and one on land, 

To one thing constant never. 

Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, 
And left thee sad and heavy ; 

For young men ever were fickle found, 
Since summer trees were leafy. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 41 

Now say not so, thou holy friar, 

I pray thee say not so $ 
My love he had the truest heart : 

O he was ever true ! 

And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, 

And didst thou die for me ? 
Then farewell home ; for, evermore 

A pilgrim I will be. 

But first upon my true love's grave 

My weary limbs I'll lay, 
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf, 

That wraps his breathless clay. 

Yet stay, fair lady ; rest awhile 

Beneath this cloister wall : 
See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, 

And drizzly rain doth fall. 

O stay me not, thou holy friar ; 

O stay me not, I pray ; 
No drizzly rain that falls on me, 

Can wash my fault away. 

Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, 

And dry those pearly tears ; 
For see beneath this gown of gray 

Thy own true love appears. 



42 BALLADS AND 

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love 

These holy weeds I sought : 
And here amid these lonely walls 

To end my days I thought. 

But haply for my year of grace* 

Is not yet pass'd away, 
Might I still hope to win thy love, 

No longer would I stay. 

Now farewell grief, and welcome joy 

Once more unto my heart ; 
For since I have found thee, lovely youth, 

We never more will part. 



THE HERMIT. 

[By Goldsmith.] 

X urn, gentle hermit of the dale, 
And guide my lonely way, 

To where yon taper cheers the vale, 
With hospitable ray. 

* Thl year of probation? or noviciate. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 43 

For here forlorn and lost I tread, 

With fainting steps and slow ; 
Where wilds, immeasurably spread, 

Seem lengthening as I go. 

Forbear, my son, the hermit cries, 

To tempt the dangerous gloom, 
For yonder phantom only flies 

To lure thee to thy doom. 

Here to the houseless child of want 

My door is open still ; 
And tho' my portion is but scant, 

I give it with good will. 

Then turn to-night, and freely share 

Whate'er my cell bestows ; 
My rushy couch, and frugal fare, 

My blessing and repose. 

No flocks that range the valley free, 

To slaughter I condemn : 
Taught by that power that pities me, 

I learn to pity them. 

But from the mountain's grassy side, 

A guiltless feast I bring ; 
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 

And water from the spring. 



44 BALLADS AND 

Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ', 
For earth-born cares are wrong: 

Man wants but little here below, 
Nor wants that little wrong. 

Soft as the dew from heav'n descends, 

His gentle accents fell : 
The modest stranger lowly bends, 

And follows to the cell. 

Far in a wilderness obscure 

The lonely mansion lay ; 
A refuge to the neighbouring poor, 

And stranger led astray. 

No stores beneath its humble thatch 
Requir'd a master's care ; 

The wicket opening with a latch, 
Receiv'd the harmless pair. 

And now when busy crowds retire 

To revels or to rest, 
The hermit trimm'd his little fire, 

And cheer' d his pensive guest : 

And spread his vegetable store, 
And gaily prest, and smil'd ; 

And skill'd in legendary lore, 
The lingering hours beguil'd. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 45 

Around in sympathetic mirth 

Its tricks the kitten tries 5 
The cricket chirrups on the hearth j 

The crackling faggot flies. 

But nothing could a charm impart 

To sooth the. stranger's woe 5 
For grief was heavy at his heart, 

And tears began to flow. 

His rising cares the hermit 'spied, 

With answering cares opprest : 
And whence, unhappy youth, he cried, 

The sorrows of thy breast ? 

From better habitations spurn'd, 

Reluctant dost thou rove ; 
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, 

Or unregarded love ? 

Alas ! the joys that fortune brings, 

Are trifling, and decay 5 
And those that prize the paltry things, 

More trifling still than they. 

And what is friendship but a name, 

A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
A shade that follows wealth or fame, 

But leaves the wretch to weep ? 



4(5 '. BALLADS AND 

And love is still an emptier sound, 

The modern fair one's jest : 
On earth unseen, or only found 

To warm the turtle's nest. 

For shame, fond youth \ thy sorrows hush. 

And spurn the sex, he said : 
But while he spoke, a rising blush 

His love-lorn guest betray 'd. 

Surpris'd ! he sees new beauties rise, 

Swift mantling to the view ; 
Like colours o'er the morning skies, 

As bright, as transient too. 

The bashful look, the rising breast, 

Alternate spread alarms : 
The lovely stranger stands confest 

A maid in all her charms. 

And, ah, forgive a stranger rude, 
A wretch forlorn, she cried ; 

Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude 
Where* heaven and you reside* 

But let a maid thy pity share, 
Whom love has taught to stray ; 

Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 
Companion of her way. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 

My father liv'd beside the Tyne, 

A wealthy lord was he ; 
And all his wealth was mark'd for mine, 

He had but only me. 

To win me from his tender arms 

Unnumber'd suitors came : 
Who prais'd me for imputed charms, 

And felt or feign'd a flame. 

Each hour the mercenary crowd, 
With richest presents strove : 

Among the rest young Edwin bow'd, 
But never talk'd of love. 

In humble simplest habit clad, 
No wealth nor power had he \ 

Wisdom and worth were all he had, 
But these were all to me. 

The blossom opening to the day, 
The dews of heaven refinM, 

Could nought of purity display, 
To emulate his mind. 

The dew, the blossom on the tree, 
With charms inconstant shine ; 

Their charms were his, but woe is me, 
Their constancy was mine. 



48 BALLADS AND 

For still I tried each fickle art, 

Importunate and vain ; 
And while his passion touch'd my heart, 

I triumph'd in his pain. 

Till quite dejected with my scorn, 

He left me to my pride ; 
And sought a solitude forlorn, 

In secret where he died. 

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 
And well my life shall pay ; 

I'll seek the solitude he sought, 
And stretch me where he lay. 

And there forlorn, despairing, hid, 

I'll lay me down and die ; 
? Twas so for me that Edwin did, 

And so for him will I. a 

Forbid it, Heaven ! the hermit cried, 
And clasp'd her to his breast : 

The wondering fair one turn'd to chide, 
'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 

Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 

My charmer, turn to see 
Thy own, thy long lost Edwin here, 

Restor'd to love and thee. 



PASTORAL 80NGS. 43 

Thus let me hold thee to my heart, 

And ev'ry care resign : 
And shall we never, never part, 

My life — my all that's mine ? 

No, never from this hour to part, 

We'll live and love so true ; 
The sigh that rends thy constant heart, 

Shall break thy Edwin's too. 



COLIN AND LUCY. 

[By Tickcll.] 

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, 
Bright Lucy was the grace ; 

Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream 
Reflect a fairer face. 

Till luckless love and pining care 

Impair'd her rosy hue, 
Her coral lips, her damask cheeks, 

And eyes of glossy blue. 



50 BALLADS AND 

Oh ! have you seen the lily pale 
When beating rains descend ? 

So droop'd this slow-consuming maid. 
Her life now near its end. 

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains 

Take heed, ye easy fair ! 
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 

Ye perjured swains, beware ! 

Three times all in the dead of night, 
A bell was heard to ring ; 

And shrieking at her window thrice, 
The raven flappM her wing. 

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 
The solemn-boding sound, 

And thus in dying words bespoke, 
The maidens weeping round. 

I hear a voice you cannot hear, 
Which says I must not stay ; 

I see a hand you cannot see, 
Which beckons me away. 

By a false heart, and broken vows, 

In early youth I die : 
Was I to blame, because the bride 

Is twice as rich as I }■ 



PASTORAL SONGS. 51 

Ah, Colin, give not her thy vows, 

Vows due to me alone ! 
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 

And think him all thy own ! 

To-morrow in the church to wed 

Impatient both prepare : 
But know, fond maid, and know, false man, 

That Lucy will be there. 

Then bear my corse, ye comrades dear, 

The bridegroom blithe to meet \ 
He in his wedding trim so gay, 

I in my winding sheet ! 

She spoke and died, her corse was borne, 

The bridegroom blithe to meet -, 
He in his wedding-trim so gay, 

She in her winding sheet. 

Oh ! what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts ? 

How were those nuptials kept ? 
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, 

And all the village wept. 

Compassion, shame, remorse, despair, 

At once his bosom swell : 
The damps of death bedew'd his brows, 

He shook, he groan'd, he fell, 



52 BALLADS AND 

From the vain bride, a bride no more, 
The varying crimson fled ; 

When, stretch'd beside her rival's corse, 
She saw her husband dead. 

He to his Lucy's new-made grave, 
Convey'd by trembling swains, 

One mould with her, beneath one sod, 
For ever now remains. 

Oft at this place the constant hind 
And plighted maid are seen : 

With garlands gay r and true love knots 
They deck the sacred green. 

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, 
This hallowed spot forbear ! 

Remember Colin's dreadful fate, 
And fear to meet him there. 






PASTORAL SONGS. 53 

WILLIAM AND MARGARET. 

[By Mallet.] 

Wh e n all was wrapt in dark midnight 

And all were fast asleep, 
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost 

And stood at William's feet. 

Her face was like an April morn 

Clad in a wintry cloud, 
And clay-cold was her lily hand 

That held her sable shroud. 

So shall the fairest face appear, 
When youth and years are flown ; 

Such is the robe that kings must wear 
When death has reft their crown. 

Her bloom was like the springing flower 

That sips the silver dew $ 
The rose was budded in her cheek, 

Just opening to the view. 

But love had, like the canker worm, 

Consum'd her early prime ; 
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek, 

She died before her time. 



54 BALLADS AND 

Awake, she cried, thy true love-calls 
Come from her midnight grave ; 

Now let thy pity hear the maid. 
Thy love refused to save. 

This is the mirk and fearful hour 
When injur'd ghosts complain ; 

Now dreary graves give up their dead 
To haunt the faithless swain. 

Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 
Thy pledge, and broken oath ; 

And give me back my maiden vow, 
And give me back my troth. 

How could you say my face was fair, 

And yet that face forsake ? 
How could you win my virgin heart, 

Yet leave that heart to break ? 

How could you promise love to me, 
And not that promise keep ? 

Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 
Yet leave those eyes to weep ? 

How could you say my lips were sweet, 

And made the scarlet pale ? 
And why did I, young witless maid, 

Believe the flatt'ring tale ? 



PASTORAL SONGS. 55 

That face,, alas ! no more is fair., 

Those lips no longer red 5 
Dark are mine eyes now clos'd in deaths 

And ev'ry charm is fled. 

The hungry worm my sister is, 

This winding sheet I wear^ 
And cold and weary lasts our night 

Till that last morn appear. 

But hark 1 the cock has warn'd me hence, 

A long and last adieu ! 
Come see, false man, how low she lies 

That died for love of you. 

Now birds did sing, and morning smile 

And shew her glist'ring head ; 
Pale William shook in every limb,, 

And raving left his bed. 

He hied him to the fatal place 

Where Marg'ret's body lay^ 
And stretch' d him on the green grass turf 

That wrapped her breathless clay. 

And thrice he call'd on Marg'ret's name, 

And thrice he wept full sore * } 
Then laid his cheek to the cold earthy 

And word spake never more. 



*G BALLADS AND 



[By Gay.*] 

1 was when the seas were roaring 

With hollow blasts of wind, 
A damsel lay deploring, 

All on a rock rechVd : 
Wide o'er the foaming billows 

She cast a wishful look, 
Her head was crown'd with willows 

That trembled o'er the brook. 

Twelve months are gone and over, 

And nine long tedious days ; 
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover, 

Why didst thou trust the seas ? 
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean 

And let a lover rest -, 
Ah ! what's thy troubled motion 

To that within my breast ? 

The merchant robb'd of treasure 

Views tempests in despair ; 
But what's the loss of treasure 

To the losing of my dear ? 
Should you some coast be laid on 

Where gold and diamonds grow, 
You'll find a richer maiden, 

But none that loves you so. 

* In the What D'ye call it. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 

How can they say that Nature 
. . ■::.--.: z ::. -in ; 
Why "he.: bcL-a:i. -.he water 

Do hideous rocks reaii- 
No eyes those rocks discover, 

That lurk beneath the ceep. 
To wreck :'-.e "i::'l:: lover 

And leave the maid to weep. 

.All melancholy lyin^ 

Thus waiTd she for her dear, 
Repaid each riast with sighing. 

Each billow with a tear : 
When o'er the white waves stooping, 

His boating c:rps she spied ;' 
Then like a lih iroopmz 
She bow'd her head and c: 



58 BALLADS AND 



BLACK-EYED SUSAN. 

[By Gay.] 

A ll in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, 
The streamers waving in the wind, 
When black-eyed Susan came on boards 
O where shall I my true love find ? 
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 
If my sweet William sails among your crew ? 

William, who high upon the yard 
Rock'd by the billows to and fro, 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard, 
He sigh'd and cast his eyes below ; 
The cord glides swiftly thro' his glowing hands, 
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 

So the sweet lark high pois'd in air 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast, 
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 
And drops at once into her nest. 
The noblest captain in the British fleet 
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet. 



PASTORAL SONGS 59 

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, 

My vows shall ever true remain ; 

Let me kiss off that falling tear, 

We only part to meet again. 
Change as ye list ye winds, my heart shall be, 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

Believe not what the landmen say, 
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind, 
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, 
At every port a mistress find. 
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 
For thou art present wheresoever I go. 

If to fair India's coast we sail, 

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright. 

Thy breath is Africk's spicy gale, 

Thy skin is ivory so white; 
Thus every beauteous object that I view, 
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 

Tho' battle calls me from thy arms, 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 

Tho' cannons roar, yet free from harms 

William shall to his dear return : 
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye. 



60 BALLADS AND 

The boatswain gives the dreadful word, 
The sails their swelling bosoms spread ; 
No longer must she stay on board, 
They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head 

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; 

Adieu, she cries, and waved her lily hand. 



[Gay.] 

JDaphnis stood pensive in the shade. 

With arms across, and head reclin'd : , 
Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid, 

And sighs reliev'd his love-sick mind : 
His tuneful pipe all broken lay, 
Looks, sighs, and actions seem'd to say, 

My Chloe is unkind. 

Why ring the woods with warbling throats ? 

Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains ; 
I faintly hear in your sweet notes, 

My Chloe's voice that wakes my pains : 
Yet why should you your song forbear ? 
Your mates delight your song to hear, 

But Chloe mine disdains. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 61 

As thus he melancholy stood, 

Dejected as the lonely dove, 
Sweet sounds broke gently through the wood. 

I feel the sound ; my heart-strings move : 
'Twas not the nightingale that sung ; 
No, 'tis my Chloe's sweeter tongue, 

Hark, hark, what says my love ! 

How foolish is the nymph, she cries, 

Who trifles with her lover's pain ! 
Nature still speaks in woman's eyes, 

Our artful lips were made to feign. 
O Daphnis, Daphnis, 'twas my pride, 
'Twas not my heart thy love denied, 

Come back, dear youth, again. 

As t'other day my hand he seiz'd, 
My blood with thrilling motion flew ; 

Sudden I put on looks displeas'd, 
And hasty from his hold withdrew. 

'Twas fear alone, thou simple swain, 

Then hadst thou prest my hand again, 
My heart had yielded too ! 

'Tis true, thy tuneful reed I blam'd, 
That swell'd thy lip and rosy cheek; 

Think not thy skill in song defam'd, 
That lip should other pleasures seek : 

Much, much thy music I approve; 

Yet break thy pipe, for more I love, 
Much more to hear thee speak. 



62 BALLADS AND 

My heart forebodes that I'm betray'd, 
Daphnis, I fear, is ever gone ; 

Last night with Delia's dog he play'd, 
Love by such trifles first comes on. 

Now, now, dear shepherd, come away, 

My tongue would now my heart obey, 
Ah Chloe, thou art won ! 

The youth stepp'd forth with hasty pace. 
And found where wishing Chloe lay ^ 

Shame sudden lighten'd in her face, 
Confus'd she knew not what to say. 

At last in broken words she cried, 

To-morrow you in vain had tried, 
But I am lost to-day ! 



DESPAIRING SHEPHERD. 

[By Rowe.] 

JJespairing beside a clear stream, 

A shepherd forsaken was laid, 
And whilst a false nymph was his theme^ 

A willow supported his head ; 
The wind that blew over the plain 

To his sighs with a sigh did reply, 
And the brook in return to his pain 

Ran mournfully murmuring by* 



PASTORAL SONGS. 63 

Alas 1 silly swain that I was ! 

Thus sadly complaining he cried ; 
When first I beheld that fair face,, 

Twere better by far I had died. 
She talk'd, and I blest the dear tongue, 

When she smil'd 'twas a pleasure too great > 
I listen'dj and cried^ when she sung^ 

Was nightingale ever so sweet ? 



How foolish was I to believe 

She would doat on so lowly a clown, 
Or that her fond heart would not grieve 

To forsake the fine folks of the town : 
To think that a beauty so gay 5 

So kind and so constant would prove » 
To go clad like our maidens in gray, 

And live in a cottage on love. 



What tho' I have skill to complain^ 

Tho' the Muses my temples have crown'd 
What tho' when they hear my soft strain,, 

The virgins sit weeping around ? 
Ah Colin thy hopes are in vain, 

Thy pipe and thy laurel resign^ 
Thy fair one inclines to a swain 

Whose music is sweeter than thine. 



64 BALLADS AND 

And you, my companions so dear, 

Who sorrow to see me betray'd, 
Whatever I suffer, forbear, 

Forbear to accuse the false maid ; 
Tho' thro* the wide world we should range, 

'Tis in vain from our fortune to fly ; 
'Twas hers to be false, and to change, 

'Tis mine to be constant, and die. 



If while my hard fate I sustain, 

In her breast any pity is found, 
Let her come with the nymphs of the plain, 

And see me laid low in the ground : 
The last humble boon that I crave 

Is to shade me with cypress and yew, 
And when she looks down on my grave 

Let her own that her shepherd was true. 



Then to her new love let her go, 

And deck her in golden array, 
Be finest at every fine show, 

And frolic it all the long day : 
While Colin forgotten and gone, 

No more shall be heard of her seen, 
Unless when beneath the pale moon 

His ghost shall glide over the green, 



PASTORAL SONGS. 65 



[Rowe.] 

As on a summer's day, 

In the greenwood shade I lay, 

The maid that I lov'd, 

As her fancy mov'd, 
Came walking forth that way. 

And as she passed by, 

With a scornful glance of her eye, 
What a shame, quoth she, 
For a swain must it be, 

Like a lazy loon for to lie ? 

And dost thou nothing heed 
What Pan our God has decreed; 

What a prize to-day 

Shall be given away 
To the sweetest shepherd's reed ? 

There's not a single swain 
Of all this fruitful plain, 

But with hopes and fears, 

Now busily prepares 
The bonny boon to gain. 



m BALLADS AND 

Shall another maiden shine 
In brighter array than thine ? 
Up, up, dull swain, 
Tune thy pipe once again, 
And make the garland mine. 

Alas ! my love, I cried, 
What avails this courtly pride ? 
Since thy dear desert 
Is written in my heart, 
What is all the world beside ? 

To me thou art more gay 
In this homely russet gray, 

Than the nymphs of our green, 
So trim and so sheen, 
Or the brightest queen of May, 

What tho' my fortune frown, 
And deny thee a silken gown \ 
My own dear maid, 
Be content with this shade, 
And a shepherd all thy own; 



PASTORAL SONGS. 67 



THE DESPONDING SHEPHERD, 

[Prior.] 

Alexis shunn'd his fellow swains, 
Their rural sports and jocund strains ; 

Heaven shield us all from Cupid's bow ! 
He lost his crook^ he left his flocks, 
And wandering thro' the lonely rocks, 
He nourish'd endless woe. 

The nymphs and shepherds round him came, 
His grief some pity> others blame, 
The fatal cause all kindly seek ; 
He mingled his concern with theirs, 
He gave them back their friendly tears, 
He sigh'd, but could not speak. 

Clorinda came among the rest, 
And she too kind concern exprest 

And ask'd the reason of his woe ; 
She ask'd, but with an air and mien 
That made it easily foreseen 

She fear'd too much to know. 



68 BALLADS AND 

The shepherd rais'd his mournful head, 
And will you pardon me, he said, 
While I the cruel truth reveal ? 
Which nothing from my breast should tear, 
Which never should offend your ear, 
But that you bid me tell. 

"Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain, 
Since you appear'd upon the plain, 

You are the cause of all my care ; 
Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart, 
Ten thousand torments vex my heart, 
I love, and I despair. 

Too much, Alexis, have I heard, 
'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear'd, 

And yet I pardon you, she cried ; 
But you shall promise ne'er again, 
To breathe your vows, or speak your pain, 
He bow'd, obey'd, and died. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 69 



THE MAD MAIDEN. 

One morning very early, one morning in the spring, 
I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing, 
Her chains she rattled on her hands while sweetly 

thus sung she, 
I love my love, because I know my love loves me. 

Oh cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea, 
And cruel cruel was the ship that bore my love 
from me, [ruin'd me, 

Yet I love his parents since they're his, altho' they've 
And I love my love, because I know my love loves me. 

O should it please the pitying pow'rs to call me to 
the sky, [to fly; 

I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love 

To guard him from all dangers how happy should 
I be! 

For I love my love, because I know my love loves me. 

I'll make a strawy garland, I'll make it wondrous 

fine, 
With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine ; 
And I'll present it to my love when he returns from 

sea, 
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me. 



70 BALLADS AND 

Oh if I were a little bird to build upon his breast, 
Or if I were a nightingale to sing my love to rest ! 
To gaze upon his lovely eyes all my reward Should 

be; 
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me. 

Oh if I were an eagle, to soar into the sky ! 

I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love 

might spy ; 
But ah ! unhappy maiden, that love you ne'er shall 

see, 
Yet I love my love, because I know my love loves me. 



I h E sun was sunk beneath the hill 
The western clouds were lined with gold, 

Clear was the sky, the wind was still, 
The flocks were penn'd within the fold ; 

When in the silence of the grove 

Poor Damon thus despair'd of love. 

Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose 
From the hard rock or oozy beach, 

Who from each weed that barren grows, 
Expects the grape or downy peach, 

With equal faith may hope to find 

The truth of love in womankind. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 71 

No herds have I, no fleecy care, 

No fields that wave with golden grain, 

No pastures green, or gardens fair, 
A woman's venal heart to gain ; 

Then all in vain my sighs must prove, 

Whose whole estate, alas ! is love. 

How wretched is the faithful youth, 

Since women's hearts are bought and sold : 

They ask no vows of sacred truth, 
Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold. 

Gold can the frowns of scorn remove ? 

But I am scorn'd — who have but love. 

To buy the gems of India's coast 

What wealth, what riches would suffice ? 

Yet India's shore should never boast 
The lustre of thy rival eyes ; 

For there the world too cheap must prove; 

Can I then buy ? — who have but love. 

Then, Mary, since nor gems nor ore 
Can with thy brighter self compare, 

Be just, as fair, and value more 

Than gems or ore, a heart sincere ; 

Let treasure meaner beauties move ; 
Who pays thy worth, must pay in love. 



72 BALLADS AND 



W hat oeauties does Flora disclose ? 

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed ? 
But Mary's still sweeter than those 

Both nature and fancy exceed. 
No daisy nor sweet blushing rose, 

Nor all the gay flowers of the field, 
Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those, 

Such beauty and pleasure can yield. 

The warblers are heard in each grove, 

The linnet, the lark and the thrush ; 
The blackbird and sweet cooing dove 

With music enchant every bush. 
Come let us go forth to the mead, 

Let us see how the primroses spring ; 
We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, 

And love while the feather 'd folks sing. 

How does my love pass the long day ? 

Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? 
Do they never carelessly stray, 

While happily she lies asleep ? 
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest, 

Kind nature indulging my bliss, 
To relieve the soft pains of my breast 

I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 73 

? Tis she does the virgins excels 

No beauty with her can compare, 
Love's graces all round her do dwell, 

She's fairest where thousands are fair. 
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray ? 

Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed : 
Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, 

Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed. 



EDWIN AND EMMA. 

[Mallet.] 

r a r in the windings of a vale, 
Fast by a sheltering wood, 

The safe retreat of health and peace, 
An humble cottage stood. 

There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair 

Beneath a mother's eye, 
Whose only wish on earth was now 

To see her blest, and die. 

The softest blush that nature spreads 
Gave colour to her cheek; 

Such orient colour smiles thro' heav'n 
When May's sweet mornings break. 



74 BALLADS AND 

Nor let the pride of great ones scorn 
This charmer of the plains ; 

That sun which bids their diamond blaze, 
To deck our lily deigns. 

Long had she fir'd each youth with love, 
Each maiden with despair ; 

And tho' by all a wonder own'd, 
Yet knew not she was fair. 

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, 

A soul that knew no art, 
And from whose eyes serenely mild, 

Shone forth the feeling heart. 

A mutual flame was quickly caught, 

Was quickly too reveal' d ; 
For neither bosom lodg'd a wish, 

Which virtue keeps eonceaFd. 

What happy hours of heartfelt bliss, 

Did love on both bestow ! 
But bliss too mighty long to last, 

Where fortune proves a foe. 

His sister, who like envy form'd, 

Like her in mischief joy' d, 
To work them harm, with wicked skill 

Each darker art employ'd. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 75 

The father too, a sordid mam. 

Who love nor pity knew, 
Was all unfeeling as the rock 

From whence his riches" grew. 

Long had he seen their mutual flame, 

And seen it longunmov'd; 
Then with a father's frown at last, 

He sternly disapproved. 

In Edwin's gentle heart a war 

Of differing passions strove ; 
His heart, which durst not disobey, 

Yet could not cease to love. 

Denied her sight, he oft behind 

The spreading hawthorn crept 
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot 

Where Emma walk'd and wept. 

Oft too in Stanemore's wintry waste, 

Beneath the moonlight shade, 
In sighs to pour his soften'd soul 

The midnight mourner stray'd. 

His cheeks, where love with beauty g] ?Vd, 

A deadly pale- o'ercasi : 
So fades the fresh rose in its prime, 

Before the northern blast. 



76 BALLADS AND 

The parents now, with late remorse, 

Hung o'er his dying bed, 
And wearied heav'n with fruitless pray'rs, 

And fruitless sorrows shed. 

'Tis past, he cried, but, if your souls 

Sweet mercy yet can move, 
Let these dim eyes once more behold 

What they must ever love. 

She came • his cold hand softly touch'd, 
- And bath'd with many a tear ; 
Fast falling o'er the primrose pale 
So morning dews appear. 

But oh ! his sister's jealous care 

(A cruel sister she !) 
Forbad what Emma came to say, 

My Edwin, live for me. 

Now homeward as she hopeless went, 
The church-yard path along, 

The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream' d 
Her lover's fun'ral song. 

Amid the falling gloom of night, 

Her startling fancy found 
In every bush his hovering shade, 

His groan in every sound. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 77 

Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd 

The visionary vale, 
When lo ! the death-bell smote her ear, 

Sad sounding in the gale. 

Just then she reach'd with trembling steps, 

Her aged mother's door ; 
He's gone, she cried, and I shall see 

That angel face no more. 

I feel, I feel this breaking heart 

Beat high against my side : 
From her white arm down sunk her head, 

She shiver'd, sigh'd, and died. 



[Shenstone.] 

1 h e western sky was purpled o'er 

With every pleasing ray. 
And flocks reviving felt no more 
The sultry heat of day ; 

When from a hazel's artless bower 
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue; 

He blest the scene, he blest the hour, 
While Nancy's praise he sung. 



78 BALLADS AND 

Let fops with fickle falshood range 

The paths of wanton love, 
Whilst weeping maids lament their change, 

And sadden every grove : 

But endless blessings crown the day 

I saw fair Esham's dale : 
And every blessing find its way 

To Nancy of the vale. 

'Twas from Avona's bank, the maid 

DifFus'd her lovely beams : 
And every shining glance display 'd 

The Naiad of the streams. > 

Soft as the wild duck's tender young, 

That float on Avon's tide ; 
Bright as the water lily sprung 

And glittering near its side. 

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom, 

Her eye all mild to view ; 
The little halcyon's azure plume 

Was never half so blue. 

Her shape was like the reed, so sleek, 

So taper, strait, and fair ; 
Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek, 

How charming sweet they were I 



PASTORAL SONGS. 79 

Far in the winding vale retir'd 

This peerless bud I founds 
And shadowing rocks and woods conspir'd 

To fence her beauties round. 

That nature in so lone a dell 

Should form a nymph so sweet ! 
Or fortune to her secret cell 

Conduct my wand'ring feet. 

<aay lordlings sought her for their bride. 

But she would ne'er incline ; 
Prove to your equals true, she cried, 

As I will prove to mine. 

'Tis Strephon on the mountain's brow 

Has won my right good will ; 
To her I gave my plighted vow, 

With him 111 climb the hill. 

Struck with her charms and gentle truth 

I claspM the constant fair ; 
To her alone I give my youth, 

And vow my future care. 

And when this vow shall faithless prove, 

Or I these charms forego, 
The stream that saw our tender love, 

That stream shall cease to flow. 



SO BALLADS AND 



CONTENT. 



[Cunningham.] 

O 'e r moorlands and mountains rude barren and 
bare j 

As wilder' d and wearied I roam, 
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair, 

And leads me o'er lawns to her home : [crown'd, 
Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had 

Green rushes were strew'd on the floor ; [round, 
Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly 

And deck'd the sod seats at her door. 



We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast, 

Fresh fruits, and she cull'd me the best, [cast, 
Whilst thrown off my guard by some glances she 

Love slily stole into my breast. 
I told my soft wishes, she sweetly replied 

(Ye virgins, her voice was divine) 
I've rich one's rejected, and great one's denied, 

Yet take me, fond shepherd, I'm thine. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 81 

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek, 

So simple, yet sweet were her charms, 
I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek, 

And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms. 
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep, 

And if on the banks, by the stream, 
Reclin'd on her bosom I sink into sleep, 

Her image still softens my dream. 



Together we range o'er the slow rising hills, 

Delighted with pastoral views, 
Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distills, 

And mark out new themes for my Muse. 
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire, 

The damsel's of humble descent ; 
The cottager Peace is well known for her sire, 

And shepherds have named her — Content. 



82 BALLADS AND 



A PASTORAL BALLAD, IN FOUR PARTS. 

[By Shenstoue.] 

I. ABSENCE. 

Y E shepherds so cheerful and gay, 

Whose flocks never carelessly roam ; 
Should Corydon's happen to stray, 

Oh ! call the poor wanderers home. 
Allow me to muse and to sigh, 

Nor talk of the change that we find 5 
None once was so watchful as I : 

I have left my dear Phyllis behind. 



Now I know what it is, to have strove 

With the torture of doubt and desire ; 
What it is, to admire and to love, 

And to leave her we love and admire. 
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn, 

And the damps of each ev'ning repel ; 
Alas ! I am faint and forlorn : 

I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. 



PASTORAL SONGS 83 

Since Phyllis vouchsaf 'd me a look, 

I never once dreamt of my vine; 
May I lose both my pipe and my crook, 

If I knew of a kid that was mine. 
I priz'd every hour that went by, 

Beyond all that had pleas'd me before : 
But now they are past, and I sigh ; 

A nd I grieve that I priz'd them no more. 



But why do I languish in vain ? 

Why wander thus pensively here ? 
Oh ! why did I come from the plain, 

Where I fed on the smiles of ray dear ? 
They tell me, my favourite maid, 

The pride of that valley, is flown ; 
Alas ! where with her I have stray 'd, 

I could wander with pleasure, alone. 



When forc'd the fair nymph to forego, 

What anguish I felt at my heart ! 
Yet I thought, but it might not be so, 

'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. 
She gaz'd, as I slowly withdrew ; 

My path I could hardly discern ; 
So sweetly she bade me adieu, 

I thought that she bade me return. 



84 BALLADS AND 

The pilgrim that journeys all day 

To visit some far-distant shrine, 
If he bear but a relique away, 

Is happy, nor heard to repine. 
Thus widely remov'd from the fair, 

Where my vows, my devotion, I owe, 
Soft Hope is the relique I bear, 

And my solace wherever I go. 



II. HOPE. 

JVl y banks they are furnish'd with bees, 

Whose murmur invites one to sleep ? 
My grottos are shaded with trees, 

And my hills are white over with sheep. 
I seldom have met with a loss, 

Such health do my fountains bestow ; 
My fountains all border' d with moss, 

Where the hare-bells and violets grow. 

Not a pine in my grove is there seen, 

But with tendrils of woodbine is bound 
Not a beech's more beautiful green, 

But a sweet-briar entwines it around. 
Not my fields, in the prime of the year, 

More charms than my cattle unfold : 
Not a brook that is limpid and clear, 

But'it glitters with fishes of gold. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 85 

One would think she might like to retire 

To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear ; 
Not a shrub that I heard her admire, 

But I hasted and planted it there. 
Oh how sudden the jessamine strove 

With the lilac to render it gay ! 
Already it calls for my love, 

To prune the wild branches away. 



From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, 

What strains of wild melody flow ? 
How the nightingales warble their loves 

From thickets of roses that blow ! 
And when her bright form shall appear, 

Each bird shall harmoniously join 
In a concert so soft and so clear, 

As she may not be fond to resign. 



I have found out a gift for my fair j 

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed 
But let me that plunder forbear, 

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed : 
For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd, 

Who could rob a poor bird of its young : 
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard 

Such tenderness fall from her tongue. 



86 BALLADS AND 

I have heard her with sweetness unfold 

How that pity was due to a dove ; 
That it ever attended the bold, 

And she call'd it the sister of love. 
But her words such a pleasure convey, 

So much I her accents adore, 
Let her speak, and whatever she say, 

Methinks I should love her the more. 



Can a bosom so gentle remain 

Unmov'd when her Corydon sighs ! 
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain, 

These plains and this valley despise ? 
Dear regions of silence and shade ! 

Soft scenes of contentment and ease ! 
Where I could have pleasingly stray' d, 

If aught, in her absence, could please. 



But where does my Phyllida stray ? 

And where are her grots and her bow'rs ? 
Are the groves and the valleys as gay, 

And the shepherds as gentle as ours ? 
The groves may perhaps be as fair, 

And the face of the valleys as fine ; 
The swains may in manners compare, 

But their love is not equal to mine. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 87 



III. SOLICITUDE. 

W h y will you my passion reprove ? 

Why term it a folly to grieve ? 
Ere I shew you the charms of my love, 

She is fairer than you can believe. 
With her mien she enamours the brave ; 

With her wit she engages the free j 
With her modesty pleases the grave ; 

She is ev'ry way pleasing to me. 

you that have been of her train, 
Come and join in my amorous lays ; 

1 could lay down my life for the swain 

That will sing but a song in her praise. 
When he sings, may the nymphs of the town 

Come trooping, and listen the while ; 
Nay, on him let not Phyllida frown ; 

But I cannot allow her to smile. 

For when Paridel tries in the dance 

Any favour with Phyllis to find, 
O how, with one trivial glance, 

Might she ruin the peace of my mind ! 
In ringlets he dresses his hair, 

And his crook is be-studded around ; 
And his pipe — oh may Phyllis beware 

Of f magic there is in the sound. 



BS BALLADS AND 

' Tis his with mock passion to glow 5 

'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, 
How her face is as bright as the snow, 

And her bosom, be sure, is as cold : 
How the nightingales labour the strain, 

With the notes of his charmer to vie ; 
How they vary their accents in vain, 

Repine at her triumphs, and die. 



To the grove or the garden he strays, 

And pillages every sweet ; 
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays, 

He throws it atThyllis's feet. 
O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair, 

More sweet than the jessamin's flow'r ! 
What are pinks, in a morn, to compare ? 

What is eglantine, after a show'r ? 



Then the lily no longer is white ; 

Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom $ 
Then the violets die with despight, 

And the woodbines give up their perfume. 
Thus glide the soft numbers along, 

And he fancies no shepherd his peer ; 
Yet I never should envy the song, 

Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 89 

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, 

So Phyllis the trophy despise ; 
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd, 

So they shine not in PhylhYs eyes. 
The language that flows from the heart 

Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ; 
Yet may she beware of his art. 

Or sure I must envy the song. 



IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Y e shepherds give ear to my lay, 

And take no more heed of my sheep 
They have nothing to do, but to stray ; 

I have nothing to do, but to weep. 
Yet, do not my folly reprove ; 

She was fair, and my passion begun ; 
She smil'd, and I could not but love ; 

She is faitnless, and I am undone. 



Perhaps I was void of all thought ; 

Perhaps it was plain to foresee, 
That a nymph so complete would: be sought 

By a swain more engaging than me. 
Ah ! love ev'ry hope can inspire : 

It banishes wisdom the while ; 
And the lip of the nymph we admire 

Seems for ever adorn' d with a smile. 



90 BALLADS AND 

She is faithless, and I am undone ; 

Ye that witness the woes I endure, 
Let reason instruct you to shun 

What it cannot instruct you to cure. 
Beware how you loiter in vain 

Amid nymphs of an higher degree : 
It is not for me to explain 

How fair, and how fickle they be. 



Alas ! from the day that we met, 

What hope of an end to my woes ? 
When I cannot endure to forget 

The glance that undid my repose. 
Yet time may diminish the pain : 

The flower, the shrub, and the tree, 
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, 

In time may have comfort for me. 



The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose, 

The sound of a murmuring stream, 
The peace which from solitude flows, 

Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. 
High transports are shewn to the sight, 

But we are not to find them our own ; 
Fate never bestow'd such delight, 

As I with my Phyllis had known. 



PASTORAL SONGS. t)i 

ye woods, spread your branches apace ; 
To your deepest recesses I fly ; 

1 would hide with the beasts of the chace ; 

I would vanish from every eye. 
Yet my reed shall resound thro' the grove 

With the same sad complaint it begun ; 
How she snril'd, and I could not but love ; 

Was faithless, and I am undone ! 



To the Memory of William Shenstone, Esq. 
[By Cunningham.] 



IjomEj shepherds, we'll follow the hearse. 
• And see our lov'd Corydon laid : 
Tho' sorrow may blemish the verse, 

Yet let the sad tribute be paid. 
They call'd him the pride of the plain : 

In sooth, he was gentle and kind ; 
He mark'd in his elegant strain, 

The graces thatglow'd in his mind. 



92 BALLADS AND PASTORAL SONGS. 

On purpose he planted yon trees, 

That birds in the covert might dwell ; 
He cultur'd the thyme for the bees, 

But never would rifle their cell. 
Ye lambkins that play'd at his feet, 

Go bleat, and your master bemoan : 
His music was artless and sweet, 

His manners as mild as your own. 



No verdure shall cover the vale, 

No bloom on the blossoms appear ; 
The sweets of the forest shall fail, 

And winter discolour the year. 
No birds in our hedges shall sing, 

(Our hedges so vocal before) 
Since he that should welcome the spring, 

Can greet the gay season no more. 



His Phyllis was fond of his praise, 

And poets came round in a throng ; 
They listen 'd, and envied his lays, 

But which of them equall'd his song ? 
Ye shepherds, henceforward be mute, 

For lost is the pastoral strain ; 
So give me my Corydon's flute, 

And thus — let me break it in twain. 



ESSAY 



O N 



PASSIONATE AND DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 



1 h e Poet's rapturous descriptions of 
beauty, with the expression of his warm 
sensations and emotions, are the subjects 
of this class of song-writing. 

Its models exist in the classical remains 
of Lyric poetry, and all the praise the 
moderns can here expect, must arise from 
imitating with success these examples of 
perfection. 

The sublime and beautiful of nature, 
were first combined with the elegance 
and refinement of art, by the Grecians : 
and this superiority in their poetry, and 
the other fine arts, entitled them to dis^ 
tino-uish the rest of the world from them- 
selves, as Barbarians. Their Roman 



94 ON PASSIONATE AND 

conquerors, first by their arms, and then 
by their borrowed arts, obtained a share 
in the honourable exclusion. Among 
these people, even simple nature was 
graceful, and ornament was elegant and 
magnificent. Glaring splendour reigned 
in the East, and terrible sublimity in the 
North, but grace and dignity belonged 
to Greece and Rome alone. Fancy, in 
her wildest flights, could in them restrain 
herself within the limits of harmony and 
proportion. Even superstition here wore 
a graceful aspect. While the Deities of 
other nations were present to their minds 
in the horrid forms of cruel rage and 
gigantic deformity, they gave divinity 
to the sublime and beautiful conceptions 
of their poets and painters. These they 
embodied with suitable symbols and 
attributes ; and the enthusiastic votary 
worshipped the God of his own enrap- 
tured imagination. There is no circum- 
stance in which the genius of these people 
shows itself more strongly than in the 
character of these fancy-formed divini- 
ties. Besides those particularly distin- 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS, 95 

guished by the title of the Graces, there 
were many whose attributes expressed 
the different shades and variations of 
whatever is elegant and graceful. Their 
Venus was the abstract idea of all these 
united — she was grace and beauty itself, 
and parent of every thing Icetum et amabile 
— gladsome and lovely. With the charm- 
ing image of this ideal excellence in their 
minds, the poets of Greece and Rome 
selected every pleasing object from the 
whole compass of nature, and carefully 
separated them from every thing disgust- 
ful and incongruous. From a crowd of 
surrounding images they knew how to 
choose such as were not only intrinsi- 
cally beautiful, but suitable to their sub- 
ject ; and they knew when to drop all 
ornament, and recur to simple nature. 
They distinguished with the nicest judg- 
ment between the purposes of elevating 
the fancy, and interesting the heart, and 
could give full force to each, without 
confounding and mixing their effects. 

In the species of Lyric poetry which 
we are now to consider, both these de- 



9<5 ON PASSIONATE AND 

signs have their place. The poetical 
description of a fair form requires the 
comparison of every kindred object of 
delight, and the richest colouring that 
art can bestow. The expression of emo- 
tions, on the other hand, must be con- 
ducted upon a simple plan; the feelings 
of the soul must declare themselves in 
artless touches of nature, and the real 
symptoms of passion ; and the poet's 
hand must only appear in the delicacy of 
his strokes, and the softness and harmony 
of his versification. 

Sappho, the genuine favourite of Venus, 
has given us a perfect model of the pas- 
sionate song. She poured forth her whole 
soul in those amorous odes, of which time 
has indeed left us very scanty remains, 
but such as will ever be the finest exam- 
ples of elegance and sensibility. The 
joyous Anacreon succeeded, but with a 
different turn of sentiment. His lyre was 
tuned rather to gaiety than tenderness, 
and his Venus was rather the easy com- 
panion of a bacchanalian, than the ob- 
ject of delicate and refined emotions. 



DESCRIPTIVE SON^S. 97 

In Horace, the passionate warmth of 
Sappho, the easy gaiety of Anacreon, and 
a superior strain of fancy and poetical 
enthusiasm proper to himself, are united; 
but on the whole, he is less frequently 
tender, than gay, or sublime. Among 
the Romans, the elegiac poets chiefly ex- 
celled in the natural and simple pathetic, 
and Tibullus is the purest example of this 
kind of writing. His flowing, elegant, 
and unadorned style, sweetly corresponds 
with the tender sentiments of complain- 
ing love, and some of the most affecting 
touches of nature that ever were ex- 
pressed, have dropt from his pen. Ovid, 
though thoroughly acquainted with the 
passion of love, and abounding with warm 
and natural descriptions of it, was in 
general too much under the dominion 
of a lively fancy, and too fond of brilliant 
expression, to be long a pathetic writer. 
If he had composed in the Lyric form, 
his pieces would have resembled our next 
class of witty and ingenious songs, more 
nearly than those of any ancient Lyric 
poet. 



98 PASSIONATE AND 

The following songs of the passionate 
and descriptive kind, resemble in various 
degrees the ancient masters above-men- 
tioned. 

There are many imitations of the Sap- 
phic Ode, in its warm descriptions of the 
external symptoms of love. Besides that 
piece of Dr, Smollet's, which is only a 
variation of Sappho's famous ode, I would 
particularly point out 

" Ah, the shepherd's mournful fate," 

as a near copy from this model. 

Horace, a poet the most familiar to a 
scholar of all the ancients, has been imi- 
tated in several songs. These are such 
as in common language would be pecu- 
liarly entitled Odes, from their high 
strain of fancy and poetical diction. 
That of Prior, 

u If wine and music have the power." 

May be marked as truly Horatian. 

The simple pathetic of Tibullus and 
the writers of Elegy, is most sweetly 
manifested in that charming song of 
Dr. Percy's, 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 99 

" O Nancy wilt thou go with me," 

which has scarcely its equal for real ten- 
derness in this or any other language. 

Other resemblances might be pointed 
out, but I imagine it is unnecessary to go 
farther. What has been already observed 
may serve to put a reader of taste upon 
remarking those niceties of composition, 
and delicate variations, which he might 
otherwise have passed over ; and I would 
not anticipate the pleasure he will receive 
from his own discoveries of this kind. 
An ample store of beauties lies open for 
his inspection, and he will probably find 
reason to flatter himself, that in this spe- 
cies of poetry, as well as in every other, 
the English follow the classic ancients 
with a bold and vigorous step, and strain 
hard for the palm of victory. 



PASSIONATE AND DESCRIPTIVE 

SONGS. 



[Phillips.] 

Blessed as th* immortal Gods is he,* 
The youth that fondly sits by thee ; 
And sees, and hears thee, all the while, 
Softly speak, and sweetly smile. 

Twas this deprived my soul of rest, 
And raised such tumults in my breast ; 
For while I gaz'd, in transport tost, 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

* Though it may seem irregular to begin a collection of 
English Songs with an Ode of Sappho, yet I am tempted to 
do it on account of the excellence of the translation, which 
has almost the merit of an original, and that the reader 
may have so nearly in view a pattern of perfection with 
which he may compare the rest 



102 PASSIONATE AND 

My bosom glow'd, a subtle flame 
Ran quick thro' all my vital frame ; 
O'er rny dim eyes a darkness hung, 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chhTd, 
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd ; 
My feeble pulse forgot to play, 
I fainted, sunk, and died away. 



[Smollett.] 

1 h y fatal shafts unerring move, 
I bow before thine altar, Love ; 
I feel the soft resistless flame 
Glide swift thro' all my vital frame. 

For while 1 gaze, my bosom glows, 
My blood in tides impetuous flows ; 
Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll, 
And floods of transport whelm my soul, 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 103 

My fault'ring tongue attempts in vain 
In soothing numbers to complain ; 
My tongue some secret magic ties, 
My murmurs sink in broken sighs, 

Condemn'd to nurse eternal care, 
And ever drop the silent tear, 
Unheard I mourn, unknown I sigh, 
Unfriended live, unpitied die. 



[Hamilton.] 

A h ! the shepherd's mournful fate ! 

When doom'd to love, and doom' to languish, 
To bear the scornful fair one's hate, 

Nor dare disclose his anguish. 
Yet eager looks, and dying sighs, 

My secret soul discover, 
While rapture trembling thro' my eyes 

Reveals how much I love her. 
The tender glance, the redd'ning cheek, 

O'erspread with rising blushes, 
A thousand various ways they speak 

A thousand various wishes. 



104 PASSIONATE AND 

For oh ! that form so heavenly fair. 

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, 
That artless blush, and modest air, 

So artfully beguiling ! 
Thy every look, and every grace 

So charms whene'er I view thee, 
Till death o'ertake me in the chase 

Still will my hopes pursue thee : 
Then when my tedious hours are past, 

Be this last blessing given, 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last, 

And die in sight of heaven. 



[Dryden.] 

(jro, tell Amynta, gentle swain, 
I would not die, nor dare complain ; 
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join, 
Thy voice will more prevail than mine : 
For souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief, 
The Gods ordain'd this kind relief, 
That music should in sounds convey 
What dying lovers dare not say. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 10; 

A sigh, or tear, perhaps, she'll give, 
But love on pity cannot live, 
Tell her, that hearts for hearts were made, 
And love with love is only paid. 
Tell her, my pains so fast increase, 
That soon they will be past redress ; 
For ah ! the wretch that speechless lies, 
Attends but death to close his eyes. 



[Prior.] 



Yes, fairest proof of beauty's power, 
Dear idol of my panting heart ; 

Nature points this my fatal hour 5 
And I have liv'd ; and we must part. 

While now I take my last adieu 

Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear, 

Lest yet my half-clos'd eye may view 
On earth an object worth its care. 

From jealousy's tormenting strife 
For ever be thy bosom freed ; 

That nothing may disturb thy life 
Content I hasten to the dead. 



106 PASSIONATE AND 

Yet when some better fated youth 

Shall with his amorous parly move thee, 

Reflect one moment on his truth 

Who dying thus persists to love thee. 



[Prior.] 

JL n vain you tell your parting lover 
You wish fair winds may waft him over : 
Alas ! what winds can happy prove 
That bear me far from what I love ? 
Alas ! what dangers on the main 
Can equal those which I sustain 
From slighted vows and cold disdain ? 
Be gentle^ and in pity choose 
To wish the wildest tempests loose ; 
That; thrown again upon the coast 
Where first my shipwreck' d heart was lost, 
I may once more repeat my pain, 
Once more in dying notes complain 
Of slighted vows and cold disdain. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 107 



[Lyttelton.] 

1 h e heavy hours are almost past 

That part my love and me ; 
My longing eyes may hope at last 
Their only wish to see. 

But how, my Delia, will you meet 
The man you've lost so long ? 

Will love in all your pulses beat, 
And tremble on your tongue ? 

Will you in every look declare 
Your heart is still the same ; 

And heal each idle anxious care 
Our fears in absence frame ? 

Thus Delia, thus I paint the scene 
When shortly we shall meet, 

And try what yet remains between 
Of loit'ring time to cheat. 

But if the dream that sooths my mind 
Shall false and groundless prove, 

If I am doom'd at length to find 
You have forgot to love ; 



108 PASSIONATE AND 

All I of Venus ask is this, 

No more to let us join; 
But grant me here the flatt'ring bliss, 

To die and think vou mine. 



[PRIOK.] 

I f wine and music have the power 

To ease the sickness of the soul, 
Let Phoebus every string explore, 

And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl. 
Let them their friendly aid employ 

To make my Chloe's absence light, 
And seek for pleasure to destroy 

The sorrows of this live-long night. 

But she to-morrow will return ; 

Venus be thou to-morrow great, 
Thy myrtles strew, thy odours burn, 

And meet thy fav'rite nymph in state. 
Kind Goddess, to no other pow'rs 

Let us to-morrow's blessings own; 
The darling Loves shall guide the hours, 

And all the day foe thine alone. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 109 



[Lyttelton.] 

When Delia on the plain appears, 
Aw'd by a thousand tender fears, 
I would approach, but dare not move ; 
Tell me my heart if this be love ? 

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear 
No other voice but her's can hear ; 
No other wit but her's approve ; 
Tell me my heart if this be love ? 

If she some other swain commend, 
Tho' I was once his fondest friend, 
His instant enemy I prove, 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 

When she is absent, I no more 
Delight in all that pleas' d before, 
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove ; 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 

When fond of power, of beauty vain, 
Her nets she spread for every swain, 
I strove to hate, but vainly strove ; 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 



110 PASSIONATE AND 



A h ! why must words my flame reveal ? 
Why needs my Damon bid me tell, 

What all my actions prove ? 
A blush whene'er I meet his eye, 
Whene'er I hear his name, a sigh 

Betrays my secret love. 

In all their sports upon the plain 
Mine eyes still fix'd on him remain, 

And him alone approve ; 
The rest unheeded dance or play, 
From all he steals my praise away, 
. And can he doubt my love ? 

Whene'er we meet, my looks confess 
The joys that all my soul possess, 

And every care remove ; 
Still, still too short appears his stay, 
The moments fly too fast away, 

Too fast for my fond love. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. Ill 

Does any speak in Damon's praise, 
So pieas'd am I with all he says, 

I every word approve ; 
But is he blam'd, although in jest, 
I feel resent inenr fire my breast, 

Alas ! because I love. 

But ah ! what tortures tear my heart. 
When I suspect his looks impart 

The least desire to rove ! 
I hate the maid that gives me pain, 
Yet him to hate I strive in vain, 

For ah ! that hate is love. 

Then ask not words, but read mine eyes, 
Believe my blushes, trust my sighs, 

My passion these will prove ; 
Words oft deceive and spring from art, 
The true expressions of my heart 

To Damon, must be love* 



112 PASSIONATE AND 



[Mrs. Barbauld.] 

(jome here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be, 

That boasts to love as well as me, 
And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound, 

Come hither and thy flame approve ; 

I'll teach thee what it is to love, 
And by what marks true passion may be found, 



It is to be all bath'd in tears, 

To live upon a smile for years, 
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet ; 

To kneel, to languish and implore, 

And still, tho* she disdain, adore ; 
It is to do all this and think thy sufferings sweet, 



It is to gaze upon her eyes 
With eager joy and fond surprize, 

Yet temper* d with such chaste and awful fear 
As wretches feel who wait their doom \ 
Nor must one ruder thought presume 

Tho' but in whispers breath/d, to meet her ear. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 113 

It is to hope, tho' hope were lost, 

Tho' heav'n and earth thy passion crost ; 
Tho* she were bright as sainted queens above, 

And thou the least and meanest swain 

That folds his flock upon the plain, 
Yet if thou dar'st not hope, thou dost not love. 

It is to quench thy joy in tears, 

To nurse strange doubts and groundless fears ; 
If pangs of jealousy thou hast not prov'd, 

Tho' she were fonder and more true 

Than any nymph old poets drew, 
Oh never dream again that thou hast lov'd. 

If, when the darling maid is gone, 

Thou dost not seek to be alone, 
Wrapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe ; 

And muse, and fold thy languid arms, 

Feeding thy fancy on her charms, 
Thou dost not love, for love is nourish'd so, 

If any hopes thy bosom share 

But those which love has planted there, 
Or any cares but his thy breast enthrall, 

Thou never yet his power hast known \ 

Love sits on a despotic throne, 
And reigns a tyrant, if he reigns at all. 



114 PASSIONATE AND 

Now if thou art so lost a thing, 

Here all thy tender sorrows bring, 
And prove whose patience longest can endure ; 

We'll strive whose fancy shall be lost 

In dreams of fondest passion most, 
For if thou thus hast lov'd, oh ! never hope a cure. 



ADDRESS TO CUPID. 



[Mrs. Barbatjld ] 

1 f ever thou didst joy to bind 
Two hearts in equal passion join'd, 
Oh son of Venus ! hear me now, 
And bid Florella bless my vow. 

If any bliss reserv'd for me 
Thou in the leaves of fate shouhTst see, 
If any white propitious hour, 
Pregnant with hoarded joys in store ; 

Now, now the mighty treasure give P 
In her for whom alone I live ; 
In sterling love pay all the sum, 
And I'll absolve the fates to come. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 11 

In all the pride of full-blown charms 
Yield her, relenting, to my arms \ 
Her bosom touch with soft desires, 
And let her feel what she inspires. 

But, Cupid, if thine aid be vain 

The dear reluctant maid to gain, 

If still with cold averted eyes 

She dash my hopes, and scorn my sighs \ 

O ; grant ('tis all I ask of thee) 
That I no more may change than she; 
But still with duteous zeal love on, 
When every gleam of hope is gone. 

Leave me then alone to languish, 
Think not time can heal my anguish, 
Pity the woes which I endure 
But never, never grant a cure. 



116 PASSIONATE AND 



[Mrs. Barbatjld.] 

A s near a weeping spring reclin'd, 
The beauteous Araminta pin'd, 
And mourn 'd a false ungrateful youth ; 
While dying echoes caught the sound, 
And spread the soft complaints around 
Of broken vows and alter' d truth - 9 

An aged shepherd heard her moan, 
And thus in pity's kindest tone 
Address'd the lost despairing maid ; 
Cease, cease, unhappy fair, to grieve, 
For sounds, tho' sweet, can ne'er relieve 
A breaking heart by love betray'd. 

Why shouldst thou waste such precious showers. 

That fall like dew on wither'd flowers, 

But dying passion ne'er restor'd; 

In beauty's empire is no mean, 

And woman, either slave or queen, 

Is quickly scorn'd when not ador'd. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 117 

Those liquid pearls from either eye, 

Which might an eastern empire buy, 

Unvalued here and fruitless fall ; 

No art the season can renew 

When love was young, and Damon true, 

No tears a wandering heart recall. 

Cease, cease to grieve, thy tears are vain, 
Should those fair orbs in drops of rain, 
Vie with a weeping southern sky ; 
For hearts o'ercome with love and grief 
All nature yields but one relief; 
Die, hapless Araminta, die. 



[SoAME JENYNS.] 

loo plain, dear youth, these tell-tale eyes 

My heart your own declare ; 
But for heaven's sake let it suffice 

You reign triumphant there. 

Forbear your utmost power to try, 

Nor further urge your sway ; 
Press not for what I must deny, 

For fear I should obey, 



1 1 a _ PASSIONATE AND 

Could all your arts successful prove, 
Would you a maid undo, 

Whose greatest failing is her love, 
And that her love for you ? 

Say, would you use that very power 
You from her fondness claim, 

To ruin in one fatal hour . 
A life of spotless fame. 

Resolve not then to do an ill 
Because perhaps you may, 

But rather use your utmost skill. 
To save me than betray. 

Be you yourself my virtue's guard, 
Defend and not pursue, 

Since 'tis a task for me too hard 
To strive with love and you. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 1 19 



Otrephon when you see me fly 
Let not this your fear create, 

Maids may be as often shy 
Out of love as out of hate ; 

When from you I fly away, 

It is because I dare not stay. 

Did I out of hatred run 

Less you'd be my pain and care ; 
But the youth I love, to shun, 

Who can such a trial bear ? 
Who that such a swain did see 
Who could love and fly like me? 

Cruel duty bids me go, 
" Gentle love commands me stay | 
Duty's still to love a foe, 

Shall I this or that obey ? 
Duty frowns, and Cupid smiles, 
That defends, and this beguiles. 

Ever by these crystal streams 
I could sit and hear thee sigh, 

Ravish'd with these pleasing dreams 
O 'tis worse than death to fly : 

But the danger is so great 

Fear gives wings, instead of hate. 



120 PASSIONATE AND 

Strephon, if you love me, leave me, 
If you stay I am undone ; 

Oh ! with ease you may deceive me, 
Prithee, charming swain, he gone. 

Heav'n decrees that we should part, 

That has my vows, but you my heart. 



W hen first I saw thee graceful move 
Ah me, what meant my throbbing breast? 

Say, soft confusion, art thou love ? 
If love thou art, then farewell rest ! 

Since doom'd I am to love thee, fair, 
Tho' hopeless of a warm return, 

Yet kill me not with cold despair, 
But let me live, and let me burn. 

With gentle smiles asswage the pain 
Those gentle smiles did first create $ 

And, tho' you cannot love again, 
In pity, oh ! forbear to hate. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 121 



IN ow see my Goddess., earthly born :* 
With smiling looks, and sparkling eyes, 
And with a bloom that shames the morn 
New risen in the eastern skies ! 

Furnish' d from nature's boundless store, 
And one of pleasure's laughing train, 
Stranger to all the wise explore, 
She proves all far-sought knowledge vain. 

Untaught, as Venus, when she found 
Herself first floating on the sea, 
And laughing begg'd the Tritons round 
For shame to look some other way. 

J\.nd unaccomplished all as Eve 
In the first morning of her life, 
When Adam blush'd, and ask'd her leave 
To take her hand, and call her wife. 

Yet there is something in her face, 
Tho' she's unread in Plato's lore, 
Might bring e'en Plato to disgrace, 
For leaving precepts taught before. 

* This Song is designed as a contrast to an Address to 
Wisdom. 



122 PASSIONATE AND 

And there is magic in her eye, 
Tho' she's unskill'd to conjure down 
The pale moon from th' affrighted sky, 
Would draw Endymion from the moon. 

And there are words that she can speak, 
Most easy to be understood, 
More sweet than all the Heathen Greek 
By Helen spoke, when Paris woo'd. , 

And she has raptures in her powV, 
More worth than all the flatt'ring claim 
Of learning's unsubstantial dow'r, 
In present praise or future fame. 

Let me but kiss her soft warm hand, 
And let me whisper in her ear 
What Knowledge would not understand, 
And Wisdom would disdain to hear. 

And let her listen to my tale, 
And let one smiling blush arise, 
Blest omen that my vows prevail ! 
I'll scorn the scorn of all the wise. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 123 



lis not the liquid brightness of those eyes, 
That swim with pleasure and delight ; 
Nor those fair heavenly arches which arise 
O'er each of them to shade their light ; 
'Tis not that air which plays with every wind, 
And loves to wanton round thy face ; 
Now straying o'er thy forehead, now behind 
Retiring with insidious grace. 

3 Tis not that lovely range of teeth, as white 
As new shorn sheep, equal and fair ; 
Nor even that gentle smile, the heart's delight, 
With which no smile could e'er compare ; 
' Tis not that chin so round, that neck so fine, 
Those breasts that swell to meet my love ; 
That easy sloping waist, that form divine, 
Nor aught below, nor aught above. 

* Tis not the living colours over each, 

By nature's finest pencil wrougr 1 , 

To shame the fresh blown rose, and blooming peach, 

And mock the happiest painters thought : 

But 'tis that gentle mind, that ardent love, 

So kindly answerin'g my desire ; [move, 

That grace with which you look, and speak, and 

That thus have set my soul on fire. 



124 PASSIONATE AND 



[Lee.] 

11 a i l to the myrtle shade, 

All hail to the nymphs of the fields 
Kings would not here invade 

The pleasure that virtue yields. 
Beauty here opens her arms ; 

To soften the languishing mind, 
And Phyllis unlocks her charms ; 

Ah Phyllis ! oh why so unkind ? 

-Phyllis, thou soul of love, 

Thou joy of the neighbouring swains 
Phyllis, that crowns the grove, 

And Phyllis that gilds the plains \ 
Phyllis, that ne'er had the skill 

To paint, to patch and be fine, 
Yet Phyllis whose eyes can kill, 

Whom nature hath made divine. 

Phyllis, whose charming song 

Makes labour and pains a delight ; 
Phyllis, that makes the day young, 

And shortens the live-long night ; 
Phyllis, whose lips like May 

Still laugh at the sweets they bring 5 
Where love never knows decay, v 

But sits with eternal spring. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 125 



THE MIDSUMMER WISH. 

[Croxall,.*] 

W aft me some soft and cooling breeze 
To Windsor's shady kind retreat^ 

Where sylvan scenes^ wide spreading trees 
Repel the raging dog-star's heat. 

Where tufted grass 5 and mossy beds 

Afford a rural calm repose ; 
Where woodbines hang their dewy heads^ 

And fragrant sweets around disclose. 

Old oozy Thames that flows fast by 
Along the smiling valley plays ; 

His glassy surface cheers the eye,, 

And thro' the flow'ry meadows strays. 

His fertile banks with herbage green 
His vales with smiling plenty swell ; 

Where'er his purer stream is seen 

The Gods of health and pleasure dwell. 

* Written when the author was at Etoi 



126 



PASSIONATE AND 



Let me thy clear, tliy yielding wave 
With naked arm once more divide ; 

In thee my glowing bosom lave 
And stem thy gently rolling tide. 

Lay me with damask roses crown'd 
Beneath some osier's dusky shade, 

Where water lilies paint the ground 
And bubbling springs refresh the glade, 

Let chaste Clarinda too be there 
With azure mantle lightly drest; 

Ye nymphs bind up her silken hair ; 
Ye Zephyrs fan her panting breast. 



O haste away, fair maid, and bring 
The Muse, the kindly friend to love, 

To thee alone the Muse shall sing 
And warble thro' the vocal grove. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 12? 



W h I l E in the bower with beauty blest 

The lov'd Amintor lies, 
While sinking on Zelinda's breast 

He fondly kiss'd her eyes \ 

A waking nightingale who long 
Had mournM within the shade. 

Sweetly renew'd her plaintive song, 
And warbled thro' the glade. 

Melodious songstress, cried the swain, 

To shades less happy go, 
Or if with us thou wilt remain, 

Forbear thy tuneful woe. 

While in Zelinda's arms I lie 

To song I am not free ; 
On her soft bosom while I sigh 

I discord find in thee, 

Zelinda gives me perfect joys y 
Then cease thy fond intrusion ; 

Be silent ; music now is noise 
Variety, confusion. 



128 PASSIONATE AND 



[Smollett.] 

W hen Sappho tun'd the raptur'd strain 
The list'ning wretch forgot his pain ; 
With art divine the lyre she strung, 
Like thee she play'd, like thee she sung. 

For while she struck the quiv'ring wire 
The eager breast was all on fire ; 
And when she join'd the vocal lay 
The captive soul was charm'd away. 

But had she added still to these 
Thy softer, chaster, power to please ; 
Thy beauteous air of sprightly youth, 
Thy native smiles of artless truth ; 

She ne'er had pin'd beneath disdain, 
She ne'er had play'd and sung in vain ; 
Despair had ne'er her soul possest 
To dash on rocks the tender breast. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 129 



[Hamilton.] 

(jr o plaintive sounds ! and to the fair 

My secret wounds impart, 
Tell all I hope, tell all I fear, 
Each motion in my heart. 

But she, methinks, is list'ning now 
To some enchanting strain ; 

The smile that triumphs o'er her brow 
Seems not to heed my pain. 

Yes, plaintive sounds ! yet, yet delay, 

However my love repine ; 
Let that gay minute pass away, 

The next perhaps is thine. 

Yes, plaintive sounds ! no longer crost, 
Your grief shall soon be o'er ; 

Her cheek, undimpled now, has lost 
The smile it lately wore. 

K 



130 PASSIONATE AND 

Yes, plaintive sounds ! she now is yours, 

'Tis now your time to move ; 
.Essay to soften all her powers, 

And be that softness, love. 

Cease, plaintive sounds ! your task is done j 

That anxious tender air , 
Proves o'er her heart the conquest won 5 

I see you melting there. 

Return, ye smiles, return again, 
Return each sprightly grace ; 

I yield up to your charming reign 
All that enchanting face, 

I take no outward shew amiss. 
Rove where you will, her eyes \ 

Still let her smiles each shepherd bless. 
So she but hear my sighs. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 131 



W hen charming Teraminta sings, 
Each new air new passion brings ; 
Now I resolve, and now I fear ; 
Now I triumph, now despair ; 
Frolic now, now faint I grow ; 
Now I freeze, and now I glow. 
The panting zephyrs round her play, 
And trembling on her lips would stay ; 

Now would listen, now would kiss 
Trembling with divided bliss ; 
Till, by her breath repuls'd, they fly, 
And in low pleasing murmurs die. 
Nor do I ask that she would give 
By some new note, the pow'r to live ; 
I would, expiring with the sound, 
Die on the lips that gave the wound. 



[Rochester.] 

jM y dear mistress has a heart, 
Soft as those kind looks she gave me, 

When with love's resistless art ? 
And her eyes, she did enslave me : 



132 PASSIONATE AND 

But her constancy's so weak, 

She's so wild and apt to wander, 

That my jealous heart would break 
Should we live one day asunder. 

Melting joys about her move, 

Wounding pleasures, killing blisses, 
She can dress her eyes in love, 

And her lips can arm with kisses 5 
Angels listen when 'she speaks, 

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder, 
But my jealous heart would break 

Should we live one day asunder. 



[Dorset.] 

JLet the ambitious favour find 

In courts and empty noise, 
Whilst greater love does fill my mind 

With silent real joys. 

Let fools and knaves grow rich and great 
And the world think 'em wise, 

Whilst I lie dying at her feet, 
And all that world despise. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. ]33 

Let conquering kings new trophies raise, 

And melt in court delights, 
Her eyes can give me brighter days, 

Her arms much softer nights. 



[Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham.] 

Irom all uneasy passions free, 
Revenge, ambition, jealousy, 
Contented, I had been too blest 
If love and you had let me rest : 
Yet that dull life I now despise 5 

Safe from your eyes 
I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys. 

Amidst a thousand kind desires 
Which beauty moves, and love inspires, 
Such pangs I feel of tender fear, 
No heart so soft as mine can bear. 
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms, 

Such are your charms, 
*Tis worth a life to die within your arms. 



134 PASSIONATE AND 



[By Theobald.] 

Of t on the troubled ocean's face 
Loud stormy winds arise ; 

The murmuring surges swell apace, 
And clouds obscure the skies. 

But when the tempest's rage is o'er, 
Soft breezes smooth the main ; 

The billows cease to lash the shore, 
And all is calm again. 

Not so in fond and amorous souls 
If tyrant love once reigns, 

There one eternal tempest rolls 
And yields unceasing pains. 



fLYj thoughtless youth, th' enchantress fly 1* 

Td other climes direct thy way ; 
Let honour's plume attract thine eye, 

Nor waste in indolence the day : 

* This piece is taken from a publication entitled, Sen- 
timental Tales, in which the loves of Catullus and Lesbia 
are formed into a fictitious story, intermixed with several 
poetical translations and imitations from Catullus's Works. 
—This however seems entirely original. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 13$ 

She nor regards thy sighs or tears, 
She triumphs in thy jealous fears, [years. 

And would rejoice to blast the blossom of thy 

Yet yonder myrtle's fragrant shade, 
Where sparkling winds the crystal rill, 

Has seen this false, this cruel maid, 
Fond as her wanton lover's will : 
Has seen thee on her breast reclin'd, 
Has seen her arms around thee twin'd, [kind. 

While with caresses sweet she woo'd thee to be 

But since no more th' inconstant fair 

Will listen to thy tender vow, 
Let nobler objects claim thy care, 

And bid the faithless maid adieu. 

Adieu, false beauty ! hence no more 

Catullus will thy smile implore, [shore. 

To shun thy hated charms he seeks a foreign 

Him thou wilt mourn, when sure decay 

Shall rob that form of every grace | 
And for each charm it steals away, 

Shall add a wrinkle to that face : 

No lover then for thee will sigh, 

Or read the glances of thine eye, [die. 

Or on thy once lov'd breast in amorous transports 



136 PASSIONATE AND 

Alas, Catullus ! you i n vain 

Would spurn imperial beauty's sway ; 
Fast bound in Venus' magic chain, 

Soon will each rebel wish decay ; 

Ev'n now, should Lesbia hither move 

Tn her accustom'd looks of love, 
How weak, how feeble all thy strong resolves 
would prove. 



[Lansdown.] 

Jf r e p a r'd to rail, resolved to part, 
When I approach the perjur'd maid 

What is it awes my timorous heart ? 
Why is my tongue afraid ? 

With the least glance a little kind 

Such wond'rous power have Myra's charms, 
She calms my doubts, enslaves my mind, 

And all my rage disarms. 

Forgetful of her broken vows 

When gazing on that form divine, 

Her injur'd vassal trembling bows, 
Nor dares her slave repine. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 137 



[Otway.] 

vj o m e all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled, . 

By cruel beauty's pride ; 
Bring each a garland on his head, 

Let none his sorrows hide : 
But hand in hand around me move, 
Singing the saddest tales of love ; 
And see, when your complaints ye join, 
If all your wrongs can equal mine. 

The happiest mortal once was I, 

My heart no sorrows knew ; 
Pity the pain with which I die, 

But ask not whence it grew : 
Yet if a tempting fair you find, 
That's very lovely, very kind, 
Tho' bright as heaven whose stamp she bears, 
Think of my fate, and shun her snares. 



138 



PASSIONATE ANB 



[Dryden.] 

On a bank, beside a willow, 

Heaven her covering, earth her pillow, 

Sad Arninta sigh'd alone : 
From the cheerless dawn of morning, 
Till the dews of night returning, 
Singing, thus she made her moan ; 
Hope is banish'd, 
Joys are vanish 'd, 
Damon, my belov'd, is gone. 



Time, I dare thee to discover 
Such a youth, and such a lover, 
Oh ! so true, so kind was he ! 
Damon was the pride of nature, 
Charming in his every feature, 
Damon liv'd alone for me; 
Melting kisses, 
Murmuring blisses, 
Who so liv'd and lov'd as we ? 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 139 

Never shall we curse the morning, 
Never bless the night returning, 

Sweet embraces to restore \ 
Never shall we both lie dying, 
Nature failing, love supplying 
All the joys he drained before \ 
Death come end me 
To befriend me ; 
Love and Damon are no more 1 



[Rowe.] 

I o the brook and the willow that heard him com- 
• plain, 

Ah willow ! willow ! 
Poor Colin went weeping, and told them his pain. 
Sweet stream, he cried, sadly I'll teach thee to flow. 
And the waters shall rise to the brink with my woe. 
All restless and painful my Celia now lies, 
And counts the sad moments of time as it flies : 
To the nymph, my heart's love, ye soft slumbers 
repair, [your care ; 

Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make her 
Let me be left restless, mine eyes never close, 
So the sleep that I lose give my dear one repose. 
Sweet stream ! if you chance by her pillow to creep, 
Perhaps your soft murmurs may lull her to sleep. 



140 PASSIONATE AND 

But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed, 
And the loss of my charmer the fates have decreed, 
Believe me, thou fair one, thou dear one, believe, 
Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give; 
One fate to thy Colin and thee shall betide, 
And soon lay thy shepherd down by thy cold side. 
Then glide, gentle brook, and to lose thyself haste, 
Bear this to my willow ; this verse is my last. 

Ah willow ! willow ! Ah willow ! willow ! 



[Collins.] 

1 o fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids, and village hinds shall bring 
Each op'ning sweet of earliest bloom, 
And rifle all the breathing spring. 

No wailing ghost shall dare appear 
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove, 

But shepherd lads assemble here, 
And melting virgins own their love. 

No wither'd witch shall here be seen, 
No goblins lead their nightly crew ; 

But female fays shall haunt the green, 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 141 

The red breast oft at evening hours 

Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
With hoary moss and gather'd flow'rs i 

To deck the ground where thou art laid. 

When howling winds and beating rain 
In tempests shake the sylvan cell ; 

Or 'midst the chase upon the plain 

The tender thought on thee shall dwell. 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore. 
For thee the tear be duly shed ; 

Belov'd, till life can charm no more, 
And mourn'd, till pity's self be dead. 



[Dorset.] 

When here Lucinda first we came, 
Where Arno rolls his silver stream, 
How blith the nymphs, the swains how gay, 
Content inspir'd each rural lay. 
The birds in livelier concert sung, 
The grapes in thicker clusters hung, 
All look'd as joy could never fail 
Among the sweets of Arno's vale. 



142 



PASSIONATE AND 



But now since good Palsemon died, 
The chief of shepherds and the pride. 
Old Arno's sons must all give place 
To northern swains an iron race. 
The taste of pleasure now is o'er, 
Thy notes, Lueinda, please no more, 
The Muses droop, the Goths prevail, 
Adieu the sweets of Arno's vale. 



[Goldsmith.] 



W hen lovely woman stoops to folly, 
And finds too late that men betray, 

What charm can sooth her melancholy ? 
What art can wash her guilt away ? 



The only art her guilt to cover, 
To hide her shame from every eye. 

To give repentance to her lover, 
And wring his bosom, is — to die. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 14$ 



1 ell my Stephon that I die ; 
Let echoes to each other tell, 

Till the mournful accents fly- 
To Strephon's ear, and all is well. 

But gently breathe the fatal truth, 
And soften every harsher sound, 

For Strephon's such a tender youth, 
The softest words too deep will wound, 

Now fountains, echoes, all be dumb ; 

For should I cost my swain a tear, 
I should repent it in my tomb, 

And grieve I bought my rest so dear. 



[Steel.] 

Irom place to place, forlorn, I go, * 
With downcast eyes, a silent shade, 

Forbidden to declare my woe ; 
To speak, till spoken to, afraid. 



144 



PASSIONATE AND 



My inward pangs, my secret grief, 
My soft consenting looks betray ; 

He loves, but gives me no relief ; 
Why speaks not he who may ? 



1 here is one dark and sullen hour, 
Which fate decrees our lives should know, 

Else we should slight th' Almighty power, 
Wrapt in the joys we find below : 

'Tis past, dear Cynthia, now let frowns begone, 
A long, long pennance I have done 
For crimes, alas ! to me unknown. 



In each soft hour of silent night 

Your image in my dream appears ; 
I grasp the soul of my delight, 

Slumber in joys, but wake in tears : 
Ah ! faithless charming saint, what will you do ? 

Let me not think I am by you 

Lov'd less for being true. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 145 



THE INCONSTANT. 

f AIR, and soft, and gay, and young, 

All charm ! she play'd, she danc'd, she sung, 

There was no way to 'scape the dart, 

No care could guard the lover's heart. 

Ah ! why, cried I, and dropt a tear. 

(Adoring* yet despairing e'er 

To have her to myself alone) 

Was so much sweetness made for one ? 

But growing bolder, in her ear 
I in soft numbers told my care : 
She heard, and rais'd me from her feet, 
And seem'd to glow with equal heat. 
Like heaven's, too mighty to express, 
My joys could but be known by guess ! 
Ah ! fool, said I, what have I done, 
To wish her made for more than one ? 

But long I had not been in view, 
Before her eyes their beams withdrew ; 
Ere I had reckon'd half her charms 
She sunk into another's arms. 



146 PASSIONATE AND 

But she that once could faithless be. 
Will favour him no more than me : 
He too will find himself undone, 
And that she was not made for one. 



LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 

[Henry Carey.] 

X h o* cruel you seem to my pain, 
And hate me because I am true ; 

Yet, Phyllis, you love a false swain, 
Who has other nymphs in his view. 

Enjoyment's a trifle to him, 

To me what a heaven would it be ! 

To him but a woman you seem, 
But, ah ! you're an angel to me. 

Those lips which he touches in haste, 
To them I for ever could grow \ 

Still clinging around that dear waist 
Which he spans as beside him you go. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 14? 

That arm, like a lily so white, 
Which over his shoulders you lay, 

My bosom could warm it all night, 
My lips they could press it all day* 

Were I like a monarch to reign, 

Were graces my subjects to be, 
I'd leave them, and fly to the plain, 

To dwell in a cottage with thee. 

But if I must feel your disdain, 

If tears cannot cruelty drown, 
Oh ! let me not live in this pain, 

But give me my death in a frown. 



[Hamilton.] 

Y e shepherds and nymphs that adorn the gay plain, 
Approach from your sports and attend to my strain; 
Amongst all your number a lover so true 
Was ne'er so undone with such bliss in his view. 

Was ever a nymph so hard-hearted as mine ? 
She knows me sincere, and she sees how I pine \ 
She does not disdain me, nor frown in her wrath, 
But calmly and mildly resigns me to death. 



148 PASSIONATE AND 

She calls me her friend, but her lover denies ; 

She smiles when I'm cheerful, but hears not my 

sighs. 
A bosom so flinty, so gentle an air, 
Inspires me with hope, and yet bids me despair. 

I fall at her feet and implore her with tears ; 
Her answer confounds, while her manner endears : 
When softly she tells me to hope no relief 
My trembling lips bless her in spite of my grief. 

By night, when I slumber, still haunted with care, 
I start up in anguish, and sigh for the fair. 
The fair sleeps in peace, may she ever do so ! 
And only when dreaming imagine my woe. 

Then gaze at a distance, nor farther aspire, 
Nor think she could love whom she cannot admire : 
Hush all thy complaining, and dying her slave 
Commend her to heaven, and thyslf to the grave. 



[Etheridge.] 

Y e happy swains whose hearts are free 
From love's imperial chain, 

Take warning and be taught by me 
T' avoid th' inchanting pain ; 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 149 

Fatal the wolves to trembling flocks, 

Fierce winds to blossoms prove, 
To careless seamen hidden rocks, 

To human quiet love. 

Fly the fair sex if bliss you prize, 

The snake's beneath the flower ; 
Who ever gaz'd on beauteous eyes 

That tasted quiet more ? 
How faithless is the lover's joy ! 

How constant is their care ! 
The kind with falsehood do destroy 

The cruel with despair. 



[Parnel.] 

When your beauty appears 

In its graces and airs, 
All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky ; 
At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears, 

So strangely you dazzle my eye ! 

But when without art, 

Your kind thoughts you impart, 
When your love runs in blushes thro' every vein ; 
When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your 

Then I know you're a woman again. [heart, 



150 PASSIONATE AND 

There's passion and pride 

In our sex, she replied, 
And thus, might I gratify both, would I do ; 
Still an angel appear to each lover beside, 

But yet be a woman to you, 



[Sir Charles Sedley.] 

A s Amoret with Phillis sat 
One evening on the plain, 
And saw the gentle Strephon wait 
To tell the nymph his pain, 

The threat'ning danger to remove, 
She whisper'd in her ear, 

Ah Phillis ! if you would not love, 
That shepherd do not hear. 

None ever had so strange an art 
His passion to convey 

Into a listening virgin's heart, 
And steal her soul away. 

Fly, fly betimes for fear you give- 
Occasion for your fate, 

In vain, said she, in vain I strive 
Alas ! 'tis now too late, 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 151 

[By Berkeley.*] 

(j a N love be controll'd by advice, 

Can madness and reason agree ? 
O Molly, who'd ever be wise, 

If madness is loving of thee ? 
Let sages pretend to despise 

The joys they want spirits to taste, 
Let us seize old time as he flies, 

And the blessings of life while they last. 

Dull wisdom but adds to our cares \ 

Brisk love will improve ev'ry joy, 
Too soon we may meet with gray hairs, 

Too late may repent being coy. 
Then, Molly, for what should we stay 

Till our best blood begins to run cold ? 
Our youth we can have but to day, 

We may always find time to grow old. 



Mortals, learn your lives to measure 
Not by length of time, but pleasure ; 
Now the hours invite, comply ; 
-While you idly pause, they fly: 
Blest, a nimble pace they keep, 
But in torment, then they creep. 

* It has been said that this song was written for the once 
well known Lady Vane. 



152 PASSIONATE AND 

Mortal s, learn your lives to measure 
Not by length of time, but pleasure ; 
Soon your spring must have a fall'; 
Losing youth, is losing all : 
Then you'll ask, but none will give, 
And may linger, but not live. 



ij id me, when forty winters more 

Have furrow'd deep my pallid brow, 
When from my head, a scanty store, 

Lankly the wither'd tresses flow ; 
When the warm tide, that bold and strong 

Now rolls impetuous on and free, 
Languid and slow scarce creeps along, 

Then bid me court sobriety. 

Nature, who form'd the varied scene 

Of rage and calm, of frost and fire, 
Unerring guide, could only mean, 

That age should reason, youth desire. 
Shall then that rebel man, presume 

(Inverting nature's law) to seize 
The dues of age in youth's high bloom, 

And join impossibilities ? . 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 158 

No — let me waste the frolic May 

In wanton joys and wild excess, 
In revel sport and laughter gay 

.And mirth, and rosy chearfulness \ 
Woman, the soul of all delight?, 

And wine, the aid of love, be near ; 
All charms me that to joy incites, 

And every she that's kind is fair. 



[Sir John Eaton.] 

1 ell me not I my time mispend, 
'Tis time lost to reprove me ; 

Pursue thou thine, I have my end, 
So Chloris only love me. 

Tell me not others' flocks are full, 
Mine poor, let them despise me, 

Who more abound in milk and wool. 
So Chloris only prize me. 

Tire others' easier ears with these 

Unappertaining stories ; 
He never feels the world's disease 

Who cares not for her glories. 



154 PASSIONATE AND 

For pity, thou that wiser art, 

Whose thoughts lie wide of mine, 

Let me alone with my own art, 
And I'll ne'er envy thine. 

Nor blame him, whoe'er blames my wit, 
That seeks no higher prize, 

Than in unenvied shades to sit, 
And sing of Chloris' eyes. 



[Lansdown.] 

W h y, cruel creature, why so bent, 

To vex a tender heart ? 
To gold and title you relent ; 

Love throws in vain his dart. 

Let glitt'ring fops in courts be great, 

For pay let armies move : 
Beauty should have no other bait, 

But gentle vows and love. 

If on those endless charms you lay 
The value that's their due ; 

Kings are themselves too poor to pay \ 
A thousand worlds too few. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 1 55 

But if a passion without vice, 

Without disguise or art, 
Ah, Celia ! if true love's your price, 

Behold it in my heart. 



[Carter.] 

Jl orever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 
An unrelenting foe to love ; 
And when we meet a mutual hearty 
Come in between and bid us part ? 

Bid us sigh on from day to day, 
And wish, and wish the soul away, 
Till youth and genial years are flown, 
And all the life of life is gone ? 

But busy, busy still art thou, 
To bind the loveless joyless vow, 
The heart from pleasure to delude, 
And join the gentle to the rude. 

For once, O Fortune, hear my pray'r, 
And I absolve thy future care ; 
All other wishes I resign, 
Make but the dear Amanda mine. 



156 PASSIONATE AND 



Young I am, and yet unskill'd 
How to make a lover yield ; 
How to keep, and how to gain, 
When to love, and when to feign. 

Take me, take me some of you 
While I yet am young and true ; 
Ere I can my soul disguise, 
Heave my breasts, and roll my eyes. 

Stay not till I learn the way 
How to lie and to betray ; 
He that has me first, is blest, 
For I may deceive the rest. 

Could I find a blooming youth 
Full of love, and full of truth, 
Brisk, and of a janty mien, 
I should long to be fifteen. 



Day not, Olinda, I despise 
The faded glories of your face, 

The languishM vigour of your eyes, 
And that once only-lov'd embrace. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 157 

In vain, in vain, my constant heart 
On aged wings, attempts to meet, 

With wonted speed, those flames you dart, 
It faints, and flutters at your feet, 

I blame not your decay of power, 
You may have pointed beauties still, 

Tho' me, alas ! they wound no more ; 
You cannot hurt what cannot feel. 

On youthful climes your beams display 
There you may cherish with your heat, 

And rise the sun to gild their day, 
To me, benighted, when you set. 



JDear Chloe, while thus beyond measure 

You treat me with doubts and disdain ; 
You rob all your youth of its pleasure, 

And hoard up an old age of pain : 
Your maxim that love is still founded 

On charms thai will quickly decay, 
You will find to be very ill-grounded' 

When once you its dictates obey. 



158 PASSIONATE AND 

The passion from beauty first drawn 

Your kindness will vastly improve ; 
Soft looks and gay smiles are the dawn, 

Fruition's the sunshine of love : 
And though the bright beams of your eyes, 

Should be clouded, that now are so gay, 
And darkness obscure all the skies, 

We ne'er can forget it was day. 



Old Darby with Joan by his side 

You oft have regarded with wonder : 
He is dropsical, she is sore-ey'd, 

Yet they're ever uneasy asunder ; . 
Together they totter about 

And sit in the sun at the door, 
And at night when old Darby's pot's out, 

His Joan will not smoke a whiff more. 



No beauty or wit they possess 

Their several failings to smother, 
Then what are the charms, can you guess, 

That make them so fond of each other ? 
*Tis the pleasing remembrance of youth, 

The endearments that love did bestow, 
The thoughts of past pleasure and truth, 

The best sf all blessings below. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 159 

These traces for ever will last 

Which sickness nor time can remove ; 
For when youth and beauty are past, 

And age brings the winter of love, 
A friendship insensibly grows r 

By reviews of such raptures as these, 
And the current of fondness still flows 

Which decrepid old age cannot freeze. 



[Gilbert Cooper.] 



Away, let nought to love displeasing, 
My Winifreda, move thy fear, 

Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy care, 

What tho' no grants of royal donors 
With pompous titles grace our blood, 

We'll shine in more substantial honours^ 
And to be noble we'll be good. 

What tho' from fortune's lavish bounty 
No mighty treasures we possess, 

We'll find within our pittance plenty, 
And be content without excess. 



ICO PASSIONATE AND 

Still shall each kind returning season 

Sufficient for our wishes give, 
For we will live a life of reason, 

And that's the only life to live. 

Our name while virtue thus we tender 
Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke, 

And all the great ones much shall wonder 
How they admire such little folk. 

Thro' youth and age in love excelling 
We' J I hand in hand together tread, 

Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, 
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures 
Whilst round my knees they fondly clung, 

To see them look their mother's features, 
To hear 'em lisp their mother's tongue. 

And when with envy time transported 

Shall think to rob us of our joys ; » 

You'll in your girls again be courted, 
And I'll go wooing in my boys. 



DESCRIPTIVE SONGS. 161 



[Percy.] 

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, 

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town : 
Can silent glens have charms for thee, 

The lowly cot and russet gown ? 
No longer drest in silken sheen, 

No longer deck'd with jewels rare, 
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene, 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

O Nancy ! when thou'rt far away, 

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind ? 
Say, canst thou face the parching ray, 

Nor shrink before the wint'ry wind ? 
O can that soft and gentle mien 

Extremes of hardship learn to bear. 
Nor sad regret each courtly scene, 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

O Nancy ! canst thou love so true, 

Thro' perils keen with me to go, 
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, 

To share with him the pang of woe ? 
Say, should disease or pain befall, 

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, 
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 



162 PASSIONATE, &c. 

And when at last thy love shall die, 

Wilt thou receive his parting breath ? 
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, 

And cheer with smiles the bed of death 5 
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay 

Strew flowers and drop the tender tear ; 
Nor then regret those scenes so gay, 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair I 



ESSAY 



O N 



INGENIOUS AND WITTY SONGS. 



Ihere is no product of mental culti- 
vation for which we are so little indebted 
to the ancients, as wit. This has been 
observed in a former Essay, to be the 
latest growth of the mind ; and the an- 
cients had scarcely attained to it, before 
the deluge of Gothic barbarity broke in, 
and swept away all the tender plants of 
literary genius. 

Though some of their early writers 
carried sublimity and beauty to their 
highest perfection, yet were they in ge- 
neral utterly devoid of a just taste for 
that elegant and delightful artifice of 
composition termed wit, and their at- 
tempts in it were to the highest degree 



Id ON INGENIOUS AND 

coarse and unpolished. Ovid had a bril- 
liancy and artificial turn of fancy, which 
frequently produced true wit, but more 
frequently that false glitter which is only 
its counterfeit. Martial advanced so far 
as to give perfect models of his particular 
branch of wit, the epigrammatic; yet a 
prevailing number of faulty pieces de- 
monstrates that he was void of judgment 
to distinguish the most excellent parts of 
a faculty which he possessed. By the 
Lyric poets, wit appears to have been 
quite unknown or disregarded. Anacreon 
and Horace, have indeed a gaiety and 
smartness of sentiment, but extremely 
different from the turn of thought in 
such modern pieces as we shall include in 
the present class. 

A taste for true wit soon followed the 
revival of learning and the fine arts in 
Europe ; for, modern literature being 
founded upon the classical remains of an- 
tiquity, had not a tedious gradation to go 
through, but acquired immediate refine- 
ment ; and genius awaking from her long 
slumber, seemed to proceed towards per- 



WITTY SONGS. 1G5 

fection as if she had never been inter- 
rupted. Italy, where the arts had been 
entombed, first felt the genial warmth of 
their revival. Every elegant production 
there shone forth with its wonted lustre ; 
and wit, peculiarly favoured by the tem- 
per of the inhabitants, flourished more 
extensively and with greater brilliancy 
than it had ever done. From thence it 
made excursions into Spain and France, 
and came late, but in fall vigour and ma- 
turity into England. After having in 
time refined itself from the debasing 
mixture of quibble and conceit, it became 
so universally admired and sought after, 
that a considerable period of English 
genius may be distinguished by the title 
of the Witty iEra, During this period, 
the dominion of wit was so extensive, 
that it usurped a place in several compo- 
sitions where its presence was altogether 
improper, and foreign to the purpose; 
this however does not appear to be the 
case with respect to its alliance with the 
Lyric Muse, whose versatility of charac- 
ter is such, that she is capable of adapt- 



166 ON INGENIOUS AND 

ing herself to the sprightly and lu- 
dicrous, equally with the tender and 
pathetic. 

Various writers have attempted to 
give a definition of wit, but like most of 
the qualities of thought, it is more easily 
described, and pointed out by instances, 
than defined. Opinion has considerably 
varied concerning the proper application 
of this term ; for while our oldest authors 
use it to signify knowledge and good 
sense in general, the succeeding restrain 
it to what is called fine, writing, and its 
more modern signification is still farther 
limited. Fine writing has been ingeni- 
ously defined to consist of thoughts, natu- 
ral, but not obvious ; the effects of which 
are, that besides the emotions or sensa- 
tions excited by their particular nature, 
they also occasion a degree of pleasing 
surprise at their uncommonness. Sur- 
prise is also the effect which characterises 
wit ; but in this it is so much more the 
object, that scarcely any other effect, ex- 
cept what secondarily results from it, is 
produced. The thought therefore is 



WITTY SONGS. 167 

neither obvious nor natural, but entirely 
artificial. 

The best definition of wit I take to be 
that of Lock and Addison, thus con- 
tracted by Lord Kaims : A junction of 
things by distant and fanciful relations, 
which surprise because they are unexpected. 

The figures of comparison, simile, allu- 
sion, metaphor, and allegory r being the 
most obvious means of junction between 
different objects, will, from this defini- 
tion, appear to be the chief sources of 
wit. Comparison is used for various 
purposes. It is employed in grave and 
didactic subjects for the sake of illustra- N 
tion. In sublime and pathetic poetry it 
is used to elevate and adorn, and like a 
reflected light to redouble the effect of 
the simple object. For both these pur- 
poses it is evident, that the more com- 
plete the resemblance is, between the 
object of comparison and thing compared, 
the more perfectly the intention is an- 
swered. The mind is pleased at dis- 
covering a number of concurring circum- 
stances ; and by minutely touching upon 



168 ON INGENIOUS AND 

similar parts in both objects, the emotion 
is heightened. This is finely exemplified 
by that beautiful simile in Virgil, where 
the lamentation of Orpheus for the loss 
of his Eurydice is compared to that of a 
nightingale robbed of its young. The 
thought itself, though beautiful, is. 
nothing new or uncommon ; but the 
poet's skill and judgment is shewn in 
particularizing, with a minuteness of de- 
scription, such circumstances of the com- 
pared object as sweetly correspond with 
the pathetic turn of the original story. 

Qualis populea moerens Philomela sub umbra 
Amissos queritur foetus, quos durus arator 
Observans nido implumes detraxit : at ilia 
Flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen 
Integrat, et moestis late loca questibus implet. 

Gcorgic. IV. 
As in some poplar shade the nightingale, 
With piercing moans does her lost young bewail. 
Which the rough hind, observing as they lay 
Warm in their downy nest, had stol'n away : 
But she in mournful sounds does still complain 
Sings all the night, tho' all her songs are vain, 
And still renews her miserable strain. 

Lee's Theodosius. 



WITTY SONGS. 169 

When comparison is employed as the 
source of wit, its excellence lies in such 
opposite qualities, that the more dissimi- 
lar the objects are in general circumstan- 
ces, the more strongly do they promote 
that effect, which as the definition im- 
ports, proceeds from the junction of things 
by distant and fanciful relations Thus in 
the following simile from Hudibras, 

Now like a lobster boil'd, the morn 
From black to red began to turn. 

the total dissimilarity of the objects in 
every circumstance, except that which 
brings them forcibly together, raises the 
highest degree of surprise. 

For this reason, contrast joined to com- 
parison perfects the idea of wit : and as 
the effect of this is almost always ludi- 
crous, one is apt to consider it as an essen- 
tial property of wit that the surprise 
excited should have something comic or 
mirthful in it. Lord Kaims appears to 
have fallen into this opinion ; yet if we 
take our ideas of wit from such in- 
stances as have ever been allowed standard 



170 ON INGENIOUS AND 

examples of perfection, we shall find that 
this rule cannot be admitted without the 
exclusion of the finest thoughts in our 
most witty writers. Cowley and Waller 
abound in instances of serious and deli- 
cate wit, which to a high degree cause 
surprise and admiration, but totally un- 
mixed with any thing ludicrous. I might 
copy almost their whole works, with 
those of all the amorous and gallant poets 
in that age for such examples. It would 
be an unprecedented severity to deny wit 
to Waller's celebrated allusion to the 
story of Apollo and Daphne ; 

Like Phoebus, thus, acquiring unsought praise, 
He catch' d at love, but fill'd his arms with bays. 

The following instance, (from Mrs. 
Greville's Prayer for Indifference,) which 
even nearly approaches to the pathetic, 
must be allowed to possess real wit. 

Nor ease nor peace that heart can know, 

That like the needle true, 
Turns at the touch of joy or woe, 

But turning, trembles too. 



WITTY SONGS. 171 

Even Hudibras, which affords such a 
profusion of ludicrous wit, contains also 
some of the.serious kind. Thus, referring 
to the constancy of an unfavoured lover, 
there is this de^cately witty simile, 

True as the dial to the sun 
Altho' it be not shin'cl upon. 

Comparison is not the only source from 
whence wit is derived. The agreeable 
surprise which characterises it, is pro- 
duced not only by the unexpected junc- 
tion of an object with another foreign to 
it, but from some uncommon turn of a 
thought, as it were, within itself; where 
some unexpected deduction is made from 
the premises ; or in other words, to speak 
in the language of the definition, where 
the relation of cause and effect, antece- 
dent and consequent, is distant and fanci- 
ful. This kind of wit is chiefly to be met 
with in epigram, and the variations in 
those pieces which are promiscuously 
ranged under this title, will very well 
serve to point out the circumstances by 
which a thought becomes ingenious and 
witty. 



1 72 ON INGENUOUS AND 

The original Greek epigram was merely, 
as its name imports, an inscription, con- 
taining a single thought, simply turned 
and expressed. It was generally some 
moral sentence, or some plain fact re- 
lating to the particular subject of the in- 
scription ; and its sole merit consisted in 
propriety of expression, and harmony of 
versification. In short, let critics as 
much as they please affect to admire the 
simplicity of the Greek epigram, it was 
certainly a very insipid piece of compo- 
sition. Martial, first of any writer whose 
works are descended to our time, changed 
the nature of the epigram, by introducing 
unusual thoughts, and artificial turns of 
sentiment. Some of his epigrams exactly 
answer the idea of fine writing before 
given ; consisting of natural, but uncom- 
mon thoughts, and exciting rather a calm 
admiration and applause, than a sudden 
surprise. To these, the term of ingenious, 
may, I think, be properly applied. The 
following examples are translated from 
him. 



WITTY SONGS. 173 

When all the blandishments of life are gone, 
The coward creeps to death ; the brave lives on. 



I offer love, but thou respect wilt have ; 
Take, Sextus, all thy pride and folly crave, 
But know I can be no man's friend and slave. 



He's grave and sober — well, what's that to me? 
Such let my slave, not my companion be. 

Add this of Prior, 

Blest be the princes who have fought 
For pompous names, or wide dominion ; 

Since by their error we are taught 
That happiness is but opinion. 

If with these the following instances 
be carefully compared, it will perhaps go 
nearer than abstract definitions can do, to 
give a just notion of the gradation from 
fine writing and ingenuity, to wit. 

The golden hair that Galla wears 

Is her's ; who would have thought it ? 

She swears 'tis her's, and true she swears, 
For I know where she bought it. 



174 ON INGENIOUS AND 

Whilst in the dark on thy soft hand I hung, 
And heard the tempting Syren in thy tongue, 
i What flames, what darts, what anguish I endur'd ! 
But when the candle enter'd, I was cur'd. 



Cinna cries out, I am not worth a groat ; 

And is, plague on him ! what he would be thought. 



On his death-bed poor Lubin lies, 

His spouse is in despair, 
With frequent sobs, and mutual cries. 

They both express their care. 

A diff'rent cause, says parson Sly, 
The same effect may give ; 

Poor Lubin fears that he shall die ; 
His wife, that he may live. 

On a Lady's Patch. 

That envious speck upon your face 
Had been a foil on one less fair, 
On you it hides a charming grace, 
. And you, in mercy, placed it there. 



She gazes all around her, 

And wins a thousand hearts ; 

But Cupid cannot wound her. 
For she has all his darts. 



WITTY SONGS. 175 

In all these, an unexpected conclusion 
from the premises, or accounting for 
effects by fanciful causes, excites that 
sudden emotion of surprise, which is the 
surest mark of a witty conception. 

I have purposely selected some ludi- 
crous and some serious instances, to show 
that in this branch of wit, as well as in 
that arisjng from comparison, the effect 
may vary without essentially altering its 
quality. 

These brief observations on the nature 
of wit in general, are not offered either 
as new, or as sufficient for the accurate 
discussion of so nice a subject ; but they 
appeared necessary to introduce our par- 
ticular remarks upon the class of witty 
and ingenious songs ; and. I shall now pro- 
ceed to them. 

An artificial turn of thought was at 
one time so much the fashion in soug- 
writing, that, as before observed, Mr. 
Phillips seems to consider it as essential 
to this species of composition. This un- 
avoidably led him to take notice of the 
difficulty in distinguishing between song 



] 76 ON INGENIOUS AND 

and epigrnm, yet he has done nothing to- 
wards removing it. The truth is, that in 
like manner as the passionate song is 
sometimes entirely the same with the 
amorous ode, so the witty 'end ingenious 
song is entirely the same with the epi- 
gram. Yet, in this case, as well as in the 
former, there are peculiar characters of 
each, which in general render it suffi- 
ciently obvious what name to apply. 

The epigram is a single piece of wit, 
put into verse. Its perfection consits in 
great brevity, ease and perspicuity of lan- 
guage, and in such a manner of conduct- 
ing the thought as to conclude with that 
striking turn which constitutes the point 
of wit. Its most happy subject seems to 
be laughable satire, and the species of wit 
most proper to it, that depending upon 
the artificial turn of a thought within 
itself, and not a figure of comparison, A 
song has been defined to consist also of 
a single thought, but divided into return- 
ing portions of measure, so as to be fitted 
for music. Its subject has been in gene- 
ral restricted to love and gaiety, and its 



WITTY SONGS. 177 

poetical character ought not to depend 
upon harmony of versification alone, but 
upon some of those ornamental figures 
which elevate sentiment and description 
above the pitch of ordinary language. 
Hence the wit most proper to song- 
writing is of that kind which arises from 
imagery and comparison, and a mere re- 
partee in verse will not come up to the 
strain of poetry expected in a song. For 
this reason I should not hesitate to pro- 
nounce the little French piece which Mr. 
Phillips says passes abroad for an excel- 
lent song, an epigram and no song. 

Thou speakest always ill of me, 

I speak always well of thee ; 

Yet spite of all our noise and pother. 

The world believes nor one nor t'other. 

Here is not one circumstance which 
agrees with the true character of song- 
writing. When the epigram is upon a 
subject within the province of love or 
wine, and its measure has the variety and 
uniformity which suits the union with 
music, it becomes much more dubious by 

N 



1 78 ON INGENIOUS AND 

what term to distinguish it. There is an 
extremely apt instance in Congreve's 
Double Dealer, (Act III. Scene 10.) not 
only with respect to the piece itself, but 
his own opinion of this difficulty, which 
is given by the mouth-of one of the cha- 
racters. 

Brisk. n 'Tis not a song neither — 'tis a 
sort of epigram, or rather an epigramma- 
tic sonnet ; I don't know what to call it, 
but its satire," 

Ancient Phillis has young graces, 
? Tis a strange thing, but a true one, 

Shall I tell you how ? 
She herself makes her own faces, 
And each morning wears a new one; 

Where's the wonder now ? 

In the following Collection several in- 
stances of this kind will be met with, 
which the circumstance of measure alone 
has determined me without scruple to ad- 
mit in the rank of songs. I cannot point 
out a more complete example than a piece 
of Lord Lansdowne's ; 

Chloe's the wonder of her sex. 



WITTY SONGS. 179 

It is universally agreed that absolute 
singleness of thought is essential to the 
epigram. Whether this rule he so strictly 
applicable to the song, will admit of some 
discussion. Mr. Phillips very justly cen- 
sures the great licentiousness of Cowley, 
and some of our most witty poets, in the 
variety of thoughts which they admit 
into their songs. A succession of new 
ideas started in every line, just touched 
upon, and immediately lost, distracts the 
attention, and enfeebles the effect of the 
whole ; and amidst the profusion of orna- 
ment, real elegance and beauty is over- 
whelmed. Yet if the ornamental cha- 
racter of Lyric poetry be considered, it 
will not perhaps appear inconsistent with 
a just taste, that the single original 
thought, which is the foundation of 
every piece, may through the course of 
several stanzas be enlivened with a mo- 
derate variety of imagery, if the general 
tendency of the whole be similar, and if 
the most striking point be reserved for 
the conclusion. Wit, indeed, in its high- 
est perfection, is a rarity of too rich a 



180 ON INGENIOUS AND 

taste and too delicious a flavour, to be 
devoured like common food ; it is pro- 
perly the desert that crowns the feast, 
and it rather shows the glutton than the 
true epicure to take it promiscuously 
with other things. For this reason, 
though there may be in a song a variety 
of such ingenious turns as come under 
the denomination of fine writing, yet the 
point of genuine wit ought to be single. 
The surprise which it excites, is of a kind 
that does not mix readily with any other 
emotion, and when it occurs in different 
parts of a song, it seems to divide it into 
so many distinct portions. Thus the fol- 
lowing piece rather appears like three 
excellent epigrams united, than a con- 
nected song. 

Cosmelia's charms inspire my lays ; 

Who young in nature's scorn, 
Blooms in the winter of her days, 

Like Glastonbury thorn. 

Cosmelia cruel at three score. 

Like bards in modern plays, 
Four acts of life pass'd guiltless o'er, 

But in the fifth she slays. 



-WITTY SONGS. 181 

If e'er impatient for the bliss 

Within her arm;- vou fall, 
The plaster'd fair returns the kiss, 

Like Thisbe, thro' a wall. 

There cannot be a more complete in- 
stance of fine taste and elegant simplicity 
in the management of a witty conception, 
than in the song, 

Why will Florella, while I gaze; 

p 

and among a variety of beautiful pieces 
of a similar kind whiqh this Collection 
affords, I would fix upon it as the most 
perfect. The two songs by which Mr. 
Phillips exemplifies his idea of song- 
writing, 

and 



On Belvidera's bosom lying, 



Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art, 

must be acknowledged finished pieces of 
the ingenious song, where, without any 
remarkable brilliancy, there is a pleasing 
vein of uncommon sentiment expressed 
with great delicacy of language, and 



1 82 ON INGENIOUS AND 

managed so as to conclude with a strik- 
ing turn of thought. 

For this kind of writing he justly cites 
the French as peculiarly excellent ; and 
it may not be improper to give a few spe- 
cimens of their songs, by way of compa- 
rison with ours of a similar turn. 

Quand le sage Damon dit, que d'un trait mortel, 
L'Amour blesse les cceurs sans qu ils osent s'en plaindre ; 

Que c'est un Dieu traitre et cruel, 
L'Amour pour moi n'est pas a craindre. 

Mais quand le jeune Atis me vient dire a son tour, 
Ce Dieu n'est qu'un enfant, doux, caressant, aimable^ 
Plus beau mille fois que le jour; 
Que je le trouve redoutable! 



Dieu des amants, viens accorder ma lyre, 
Me pourrois-tu refuser mes lecons ? 

La jeune Iris, l'honneur de ton empire, 
Attend de moi d'amoureuses chansons. 

A mes accents rend la belle attentive, 
Fai moi trouver la route de son coeur; 

Viens endormir une raison craintive, 
Qui lui defeiid d'ecouter ma langueur. 



WITTY SONGS. 183 

Va, dit Amour, j'exauce ta priere, 
Tu recevras le prix que tu pretends : 

Aux petits soins d'un cceur tendre et sincere 
On ne sauroit se refuser long teins. 

Pourriez vous bien etre encore inflexible, 
Apres ces mots du plus puissant des Dieux ? 

Quand il promit de vous rendre sensible, 
Charmante Iris, il etoit dans vos yeux. 



La Raison n'est pas raisonable, 

Bien fou qui s'en laisse charmer, 
Elle me dit, Iris, que vous etes aimable, 
Et me defend de vous aimer. 
Aime Iris, dit l'Amour, puisque elle a su te plaire, 
Profite des beaux jours de ta belle saison ; 
Ma foi, PAmour sur cette affaire 
Raisonne mieux que la Raison. 



Tircis, votre langueur extreme 

A passe jusques dans mon coeur ; 
Parlez, il n'est plus terns de feindre ; 

Mais vous ne dites rien, helas ! 
Aurois-je le malheur de plaindre 

Un mal que je ne cause pas ? 



1 84 ON INGENIOUS AND 



i 



Le berger qui suivoit mes loix 
Se derobe enfin a ma chaine ; 
Pour me croire trop inhumaine 

II va fixer ailleurs son choix. 

D'une inconstance si cruelle 
Je me plaindrois avec eclat, 

Si Tircis n'etoit qu' infidelle ; 

Mais, par mainour, il est ingrat. 



Pensez y bien, jeune Climene, 

Remplissez mes tendres desirs ; 
Helas ! si pres de vous j'allois perdre ma peine 

Vous perderiez mille plaisirs. 



Autrefois la charmante Hortense, 
Dont mille amants formoient la cour. 

Par une heureuse preference, 
Me donna des lecons d'amour. 

Par elle j'appris Part de plaire, 
Ces transports, ces erapressements, 

Ces petits soins, la grande affaire, 
Et le grand savoir des amants. 

Elle m'avoit instruit a, peine 
De ces doux mysteres d'amour, 

Qu'aussitot &la jeune Ismene 
J'en fis des lecons a mon tour. 



WITTY SONGS. 185 

Mais en Pinstrulsant comme on aime 

Que j'aimois a voir ses progres ! 
Le plaisir d'etre instruit moi-meme 

Avoit eu pour moi moins d'attraits. 

Ismene eut toute ma tendresse, 

Et mon eleve a mes regards 
Fut plus chere que ma maitresse ; 

C'en est ainsi dans tons les arts. 



Pourquoi sonpirez vous, diamante Celimene ? 

Vous qui causez aux cceurs des sensibiles tourments ? 
Ah ! si je soulageois line si rude peine, 

Je guerirois aussi des maux que je ressens. 

Quand tu vois soupirer ia triste Celimene 
^ C'est que l'amour la livre aux sensibles tourments* 
Ah ! s'il m'etoit perniis de soulager ta peine, 
Je guerirois aussi des maux que je ressens. 



INGENIOUS AND WITTY 

SONGS. 



[Phillips.] 

On Belvidera's bosom lying, 
Wishing, panting, sighing, dying 
The cold regardless maid to move 

With unavailing prayers I sue ; 
You first have taught me how to love, 

Ah ! teach me to be happy too. 

But she, alas ! unkindly wise, 
To all my sighs and tears replies, 
'Tis every prudent maid's concern 

Her lover's fondness to improve ; 
If to be happy you should learn, 

You quickly would forget to love. 



188 INGENIOUS AND 



[Phillips.] 

J3 oast not mistaken swain, thy art 

To please my partial eyes ; 
The charms that have subdued my heart 

Another may despise. 

Thy face is to my humour made, 

Another it may fright ; 
Perhaps, by some fond whim betray'd, 

In oddness I delight. 

Vain youth, to your confusion know 

'Tis to my love's excess 
You all your fancied beauties owe, 

Which fade as that grows less. 

For your own sake, if not for mine, 
You should preserve my fire, 

Since you, my swain, no more will shine, 
When I no more admire. 

By me indeed you are allow' d 

The wonder of your kind ; 
But be not of my judgment proud 

Whom love has render' d blind. 



WITTY SONGS. 189 



[Addison.] 



Ml y love was fickle once and changing, 
Nor e'er would settle in my heart, 

From beauty still to beauty ranging. 
In every face I found a dart. 

^Twas first a charming shape enslav'd me, 
An eye then gave the fatal stroke; 

Till by her wit Corinna sav'd me, 
And all my former fetters broke. 

But now a long and lasting anguish 

For Belvidera I endure 5 
Hourly I sigh, and hourly languish, 

Nor hope to find the wonted cure. 

For here the false inconstant lover 
After a thousand beauties shown, 

Does new surprising charms discover. 
And finds variety in one. 



190 INGENIOUS AND 



[Sedley.] 

IN ot, Celia, that I juster am, - 

Or truer than the rest -, 
For I would change each hour like them, 

Were it my interest. 

But I'm so fix'd alone to thee 

By every thought I have, 
That should you now my heart set free 

'Twould be again your slave. 

All that in woman is ador'd 

In thy dear self I find ; 
For the whole sex can but afford 

The handsome, and the kind. 

Not to my virtue, but thy power 

This constancy is due, 
When change itself can give no more 

*Tis easy to be true. 



WITTY SONGS. 191 



[Etheribge.] 

1 t is not, Celia, in our power 
To say how long our love will last ; 

It may be we within this hour 
May lose the joys we now do taste : 
The blessed that immortal be 
From change of love are only free. 

Then since we mortal lovers are, 
Ask not how long our love will last ; 

But while it does, let us take care 
Each minute be with pleasure past : 
Were it not madness to deny 
To live, because we're sure to die ? 



[Lyttelton.] 

OaYj Myra, why is gentle love 
A stranger to that mind, 

Which pity and esteem can move 
Which can be just and kind ? 



192 INGENIOUS AND 

Is it because you fear to share 
The ills that love molest ; 

The jealous doubt, the tender care, 
That rack the am'rous breast ? 

Alas ! by some degree of woe 
We every bliss must gain : 

The heart can ne'er a transport know, 
That never feels a pain. 



[CoNGREVE.] 

LiYNTHiA frowns whene'er I woo her, 
Yet she's vex'd if I give over ; 

Much she fears I should undo her, 
But much more to lose her lover : ' 

Thus in doubting she refuses, 

And not winning thus she loses. 

Pr'ythee, Cynthia, look behind you, 
Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you 5 

Then too late desire will find you 
When the power does forsake you. 

Think, oh ! think, the sad condition 

To be past, yet wish fruition. 



WITTY SONGS. 193 



[CONGREVE.] 

.Love's but the frailty of the mind 
When 'tis not with ambition join'd ; 
A sickly flame, which if not fed, expires, 
And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires. 

'Tis not to wound a wanton boy, 
Or amorous youth, that gives the joy; 
But 'tis the glory to have pierc'd a swain 
For whom inferior beauties sigh'd in vain. 

Then I alone the conquest prize, 

When I insult a rival's eyes ; 
If there's delight in love, 'tis when I see 
The heart which others bleed for, bleed for me. 



[CONGREVE.] 

t a I r Amoret is gone astray, 
Pursue and seek her, every lover ; 

I'll tell the signs by which you may 
The wand'ring shepherdess discover, 



194 INGENIOUS AND 

Coquet and coy at once her air, 

Both studied, tho' both seem neglected. 

Careless she is with artful care, 
Affecting to seem unaffected. 

With skill her eyes dart every glance, 

Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect 'em j 

For she'd persuade they wound by chance, 
Tho' certain aim and art direct 'em. 

She likes herself, yet others hates 
For that which in herself she prizes ; 

And, while she laughs at them, forgets 
She is the thing that she despises. 



[How.] 

In Chloris all soft charms agree, 

Inchanting humour, powerful wit, 
Beauty from affectation free, 

And for eternal empire fit. 
Where'er she goes love waits her eyes, 

The women envy, men adore ; 
Tho' did she less the triumph prize, 

She would deserve the conquest more. 



WITTY SONGS. 19! 

But vanity so much prevails, 

She begs what none else would deny her., 
Makes such advances with her eyes. 

The hope she gives prevents desire : 
Catches at every trifling heart, 

Grows warm with every glimm'ring flame \ 
The common prey so deads her dart, 

It scarce can pierce a noble game* 

I could lie ages at her feet, 

Adore her, careless of my pain, - 
With tender vows her rigours meet, 

Despair, love on, and not complain ; 
My passion from all change secure 

No favours raise, no frown controls ) 
I any torment can endure 

But hoping with a crowd of fools. 



[Shenstone.] 



Yes, Fulvia is like Venus fair, 
Has all her bloom, and shape, and air ; 
But still, to perfect every grace, 
She wants — the smile upon her face. 



196 INGENIOUS AND 

The crown majestic Juno wore, 

And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore, 

A helmet mark'd Minerva's mien ; 

But smiles distinguished beauty's Queen. 

Her train was form'd of Smiles and Loves, 
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves, 
And from her zone the nymph may find 
'Tis beauty's province to be kind. 

Then smile, my fair ; and all whose aim 
Aspires to paint the Cyprian dame, 
Or bid her breathe in living stone, 
Shall take their forms from you alone. 



[Congrevb.] 



1 tell thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve, 
And could again l>egin to love and live, 
To you I should my earliest offering give ; 
I know my eyes would lead my heart to you, 
And I should all my oaths and vows renew, 
But, to be plain, I never would be true. 



, WITTY SONGS. 197 

For by our weak and weary truth, I find, 
Love hates to centre in a point assign'd, 
But runs with joy the circle of the mind : 
Then let us never chain what should be free, 
But for relief of either sex agree ; 
Since women love to change, and so do we. 



[Sedley.] 



Damon, if you will believe me, 
'Tis not sighing on the plain, 

Song nor sonnet can relieve ye ; 
Faint attempts in love are vain. 

Urge but home the fair occasion, 
And be master of the field ; 

To a powerful kind invasion 
'Twere a madness not to yield. 

Love gives out a large commission, 
Still indulgent to the brave ; 

But one sin of base omission 
Never woman yet forgave. 



198 INGENIOUS AND 

Tho' she vows she'll ne'er permit ye, 
Cries you're rude and much to blame, 

And with tears implores your pity 5 
Be not merciful, for shame. 

When the fierce assault is over, 
Chloris time enough will find 

This her cruel furious lover 

Much more gentle, not so kind. 



W hat! put off with one denial, 
And not make a second trial ? 
You might see my eyes consenting, 
All about me was relenting ; 
Women, oblig'd to dwell in forms, 
Forgive the youth that boldly storms. 

Lovers, when you sigh and languish, 
When you tell us of your anguish, 
To the nymph you'll be more pleasing 
When those sorrows you are easing : 
We love to try how far men dare, 
And never wish the foe should spare. 



WITTY SONGS. 19$ 



[Steel.] 

.Let not Love on me bestow 
Soft distress and tender woe ; 
I know none but substantial blisses, 
Eager glances,, solid kisses. 

I know not what the lovers feign 
Of finer pleasure mix'd with pain 
Then pr'ythee give me, gentle boy, 
None of thy grief, but all thy joy. 



[Phillips.] 

W h y we love, and why we hate, 
Is not granted us to know 5 

Random chance, or wilful fate 

Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow. 

If on me Zelinda frown, 

Madness 'tis all in me to grieve ; 
Since her will is not her own, 

Why should I uneasy live. 



200 INGENIOUS AND 

If I for Zelinda die 

Deaf to poor Mizella's cries. 
Ask not me the reason why ; 

Seek the riddle in the skies. 



[Lady Mary W. Montague.] 

JJear Colin prevent my warm blushes, 
Since how can I speak without pain? 

My eyes have oft told you my wishes, 
O ! can't you their meaning explain ? 

My passion would lose by expression, 
And you too might cruelly blame ; 

Then don't you expect a confession, 
Of what is too tender to name. 

Since your's is the province of speaking, 
Why should you expect it from me ? 

Our wishes should be in our keeping, 
Till you tell us what they should be. 

Then quickly why don't you discover? 

Did your heart feel such tortures as mine, 
Eyes need not tell over and over 

What I in my bosom confine. 



WITTY SONGS. 201 



THE ANSWER. 

[Sir W. Yonge.] 

(jtood Madam, when ladies are willing, 
A man must needs look like a fool ; 

For me I would not give a shilling 
For one that can love without rule. 

At least you should wait for our offers, 
Nor snatch like old maids in despair; 

If you've liv'd to these years without proffers, 
Your sighs are now lost in the air. 

You should leave us to guess at your blushing, 
And not speak the matter too plain ; 

'Tis ours to be forward and pushing 5 
' Tis yours to affect a disdain. 

That you're in a terrible taking 
From all your fond oglings I see ; 

But the fruit that will fall without shaking 
Indeed is too mellow for me. 



202 INGENIOUS AND 



[SOAME JENYNS.} 

When first I sought fair Cselia's love, 

And ev'ry charm was new, 
I swore by all the God's above 

To be for ever true. 

But long in vain did I adore, 
Long wept and sigh'd in vain ; 

Still she protested, vow'd, and swore 
She ne'er would ease my pain. 

At last o'ercome she made me blest, 
And yielded all her charms ; 

And I forsook her when possest, 
And fled to others arms. 

But let not this., dear Caelia, now 

To rage thy breast incline, 
For why, since you forget your vow, 

Should I remember mine ? 



WITTY SONGS. 203 



Cj or inn a cost me many a prayer. 
Ere I her heart could gain, 

But she ten thousand more should hear 
To take that heart again. 

Despair I thought the greatest curse, 

But to my cost I find 
Corinna's constancy still worse, 

Most cruel when too kind* 

How hlindly then does Cupid carve, 

How ill divide the joy, 
Who does at first his lovers starve, 

And then with plenty cloy. 



[Rochester.] 

All my past life is mine no more, 

The flying hours are gone ; 
Like transitory dreams given o'er 5 
Whose images are kept in store 
By memory alone. 



204 INGENIOUS AND 

The time that is to come, is not ; 

How then can it be mine ? 
The present moment's all my lot, 
And that, as fast as it is got, 

Phyllis, is only thine. 

Then talk not of inconstancy, 
False hearts, and broken vows ; 

If I, by miracle, can be 

This live-long minute true to thee, 
'Tis all that heaven allows. 



THE JE NE SCAIS QUOI. 

[Whitehead.] 

Yes, I'm in love, I feel it now, 

And Celia has undone me ; 
But yet I swear I can't tell how 
The pleasing plague stole on me. 

'Tis not her face that love creates, 
For there no graces revel ; 

'Tis not her shape, for there the fates 
Have rather been uncivil. 



WITTY SONGS. 205 

"f is not her air, for sure in that 

There's nothing more than common ; 

And all her sense is only chat 
Like any other woman. 

Her voice, her touch might give th* alarm, 
'Twas both, perhaps, or neither ; 

In short, 'twas that provoking charm 
Of Celia altogether. 



Y e little Loves that round her wait 
To bring me tidings of my fate, 
As Celia on her pillow lies, 

Ah ! gently whisper — Strephon dies, 

If this will not her pity move, 

And the proud fair disdains to love, 

Smile and say 'tis all a lie, 

And haughty Strephon scorns to die. 



2G£ INGENIOUS AND 



JLove and Folly were at play. 
Both too wanton tp be wise, 

They fell out, and in the fray 
Folly put out Cupid's eyes. 

Straight the criminal was tried, 
And had this punishment assign'd, 

Folly should to Love be tied, 

And condemn'd to lead the blind. 



An amorous swain to Juno pray'd, 
And thus his suit did move \ 

Give me, oh ! give me the dear maid, 
Or take away my love. 

The Goddess thunder'd from the skies, 

And granted his request ; 
To make him happy, made him wise, 

And drove her from his breast. 



WITTY SONGS. 207 



b wain, thy hopeless passion smother.* 
Perjur'd Celia loves another; 
In his arms I saw her lyings 
Panting, kissing, trembling, dying; 
There the fair deceiver swore, 
All she did to you before. 

Oh ! said you, when she deceives rae, 
When that constant creature leaves me, 
Isis' waters back shall fly, 
And leave their oozy channels dry \ 
Turn, ye waters, leave your shore, 
Perjur' Celia loves no more. 



* The turn in this song is ingeniously copied out of 
Ovid's epistle from Oenone to Paris : 

Cum Paris Oenone poterit spirare relicta, 
Ad fontem Xanthi versa recurret aqua ; 

Xanthe retro propera, versseque recurrite lymphas, 
Sustinet Oenone deseruisse Paris. 

Oenone left, when Paris can survive, 
The waves of Xanthus shall reverse their course; 
Turn waters, turn, flow upward to your source, 
Oenone's left, yet Paris bears to live. 



208 INGENIOUS AND 



Cu 

Some way to tell the nymph his pain 

To common youths unknown ; 
To talk of sighs, and flames, and darts, 
Of bleeding wounds, and burning hearts, 

Are methods vulgar grown. 

What need'st thou tell ? (the God replied) 
That love the shepherd cannot hide, 

The nymph will quickly find 5 
When Phoebus does his beams display, 
To tell men gravely that 'tis day, 

Is to suppose them blind. 



THE ILLUSION. * 1 

Love's a dream of mighty treasure, 
Which in fancy we possess; 

In the folly lies the pleasure, 
Wisdom always makes it less. 



WITTY SONGS. 209 

When we think, by passion heated, 

We a Goddess have in chace, 
Like Ixion we are cheated, 

And a gaudy cloud embrace. 

Happy only is the lover 

Whom his mistress well deceives ; 
Seeking nothing to discover, 

He contented lives at ease. 

While the wretch who would be knowing 
What the fair one would disguise, 

Labours for his own undoing, 
Changing happy to be wise. 



[CONGREVE.] 

Iell me no more I am deceivM, 
That Chloe's false and common ; 

I always knew (at least believ'd) 
She was a very woman : 

As such I lik'd, as such caress' d, 

She still was constant when possessed, 
She could do more for no man. 
p 



210 INGENIOUS AND 

But oh ! her thoughts on others ran, 
And that you think a hard thing ? 

Perhaps she fancied you the man ; 
And what care I one farthing ? 

You think she's false, I'm sure she's kind, 

I take her body, you her mind, 
Who has the better bargain ? 



[Chesterfield .] 

JM i st a ken fair, lay Sherlock by, 
His doctrine is deceiving, 

For while he teaches us to die, 
He cheats us of our living. 

To die's a lesson we shall know 
Too soon without a master \ 

Then let us only study now 
How we may live the faster. 

To live's to love, to bless, be blest 
With mutual inclination ; 

Share then my ardour in your breast, 
And kindly meet my passion. 



WITTY SONGS. 211 

But if thus blest I may not live, 

And pity you deny, 
To me at least your Sherlock give, 

'Tis I must learn to die. 



[Lansdowne.] 

(jhloe's the wonder of her sex, 
'Tis well her heart is tender ; 

How might such killing eyes perplex, 
With virtue to defend her ! 

But nature graciously inclin'd 
With liberal hand to please us, 

Has to her boundless beauty join'd 
A boundless bent to ease us. 



[Lisle.] 

Wh e n Orpheus went down to the regions be- 
Which men are forbidden to see ; [low, 

He tun'd up his lyre, as old histories show, 
To set his Eurydice free. 



212 INGENIOUS AND 

All hell was astonish' d a person so wise 

Should rashly endanger his life, 
And venture so far; but how vast their surprise 

When they heard that he came for his wife ! 

To find out a punishment due for his fault 

Old Pluto long puzzled his brain, 
But hell had not torments sufficient, he thought, 

So he gave him his wife back again. 

But pity succeeding soon vanquish'd his heart, , 
And pleas'd with his playing so well, 

He took her again in reward of his art, 
Such merit had music in hell. 



[Pulteney, Earl of Bath.] 

Vain are the charms of white and red, 
Which paint the blooming fair ; 

Give me the nymph whose snow is spread 
Not o'er her face, but hair. 

Of smoother cheeks the winning grace 

With open force defies ', 
But in the wrinkles of her face 

Cupid in ambush lies. 






WITTY SONGS. 213 

If naked eyes set hearts on' blaze, 

And amorous warmth inspire ; 
Thro' glass, who darts her pointed rays, 

Lights up a fiercer fire. 

Nor rivals, nor the train of years, 

My peace or bliss destroy ; 
Alive, she gives no jealous fears, 

And dead, she crowns my joy. 



kj h l o e brisk and gay appears, 

On purpose to invite ; 
Yet, when I press her, she, in tears 

Denies her sole delight; 

Whilst Celia, seeming shy and coy, 
To all her favours grants \ 

And secretly receives that joy, 
Which others think she wants. 

I would, but fear I never shall, 

With either fair agree ; 
For Celia will be kind to all, 

But Chloe won't to me. 



214 INGENIOUS AND 



Oh ! turn away those cruel eyes, 

The stars of my undoing ; 
Or death in such a bright disguise 

May tempt a second wooing. 

Punish their blindly impious pride 

Who dare contemn thy glory ; 
It was my fall that deified 

Thy name, and seal'd thy story. 

Yet no new sufferings can prepare 
A higher praise to crown thee ' y 

Tho' my first death proclaim thee fair, 
My second will dethrone thee. 

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice 

No other for thy fuel ; 
And if thou burn one victim twice, 

Think thee both poor and crueL 



WITTY SONGS. 215 



I n vain, fond youth, thy tears give o'er ; 

What more, alas ! can Flavia do ? 
Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore : 

All are not happy that are true. 

Suppress those sighs, and weep no more ; 

Should heav'n and earth with thee combine, 
^Twere all in vain ; since any pow'r, 

To crown thy love, must alter mine. 

But, if revenge can ease thy pain, 

Fll sooth the ills I cannot cure, 
Tell that I drag a hopeless chain, 

And all that I inflict, endure. 



[Prior.] 

Ihe merchant to secure his treasure 
Conveys it in a borrow'd name ; 

Euphelia serves to grace my measure, 
But Chloe is my real flame. 



216 INGENIOUS AND 

My softest verse, my darling lyre 

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay, 
When Chloe noted her desire 

That I should sing, that I should play. 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 

But with my numbers mix my sighs $ 

And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, 
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes. 

Fair Chloe blush'd ; Euphelia frown'd ; 

I sung and gaz'd, I play'd and trembled ; 
And Venus to the loves around 

Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. 



Cjelia, hoard thy charms no more, 

Beauty's like the miser's treasure ; 
Still the vain possessor's poor, 

What are riches without pleasure ? 
Endless pains the miser takes 

To increase his heaps of money, „ 
Lab'ring bees his pattern makes, 

Yet he fears to taste his honey, 



WITTY SONGS. 217 

Views with aching eyes his store, 

Trembling lest he chance to lose it, 
Pining still for want of more, 

Tho' the wretch wants power to use it. 
Celia thus with endless arts 

Spends her days, her charms improving, 
Lab'ring still to conquer hearts, 

Yet ne'er tastes the sweets of loving. 

Views with pride her shape and face, 

Fancying still she's under twenty ; 
Age brings wrinkles on apace, 

While she starves with all her plenty. 
Soon or late they both will find 

Time their idol from them sever, 
He must leave his gold behind, 

Lock'd within his grave for ever. 

Celia's fate will still be worse, 

When her fading charms deceive her, 

Vain desire will be her curse 

When no mortal will relieve her. 

Celia hoard thy charms no more, 

, Beauty's like the miser's treasure, 

Taste a little of thy store ; 

What is beauty without pleasure ? 



218 INGENIOUS AND 



As the snow in vallies lying, 
Phoebus his warm beams applying, 

Soon dissolves and runs away ; 
So the beauties, so the graces 
Of the most bewitching faces 

At approaching age decay. 

As a tyrant when degraded 
Is despis'd, and is upbraided 

By the slaves he once controll'd ; 
So the nymph if none could move her 
Is contemn' d by every lover 

When her charms are growing old. 

Melancholic looks and whining, 
Grieving, quarrelling and pining 

Are th* effects your rigours move ; 
Soft caresses, amorous glances, 
Melting sighs, transporting trances, 

Are the blest effects of love. 



WITTY SONGS. 219 

Fair ones, while your beauty's blooming 
Use your time, lest age resuming 

What your youth profusely lends, 
You are robb'd of all your glories, 
And condemn'd to tell old stories 

To your unbelieving friends. 



[Walsh.] 

vj e l i a, too late you would repent ; 

The off'ring all your store 
Is now but like a pardon sent 

To one that's dead before. 

While at the first you cruel prov'd, 
And grant the bliss too late, 

You hinder'd me of one I lov'd 
To give me one I hate. 

I thought you innocent as fair 
When first my court I made, 

But when your falsehoods plain appear 
My love no longer staid. 

Your bounty of those favours shown 
Whose worth you first deface, 

Is melting valued medals down, 
And giving us the brass. 



220 INGENIOUS AND 

Oh ! since the thing we beg's a toy, 

By lovers priz'd alone, 
Why cannot women grant the joy 

Before our love is gone ? 



1 p the quick spirit of your eye, 
Now languish, and anon must die * } 
If every sweet and every grace 
Must fly from that forsaken face ; 
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, 
Ere time such goodly fruit destroys. 

Or if that golden fleece must grow 

For ever free from aged snow ; 

If those bright suns must know no shade, 

Nor your fresh beauty ever fade ; 

Then, Celia, fear not to bestow 

What still being gather'd, still must grow. 

Thus either time his sickle brings 
In vain, or else in vain his wings, 



WITTY SONGS. 221 



JLate when love I seem'd to slight, 
Phyllis smil'd, as well she might ! 

Now, said she, our throne may tremble, 
Men our province now invade, 
Men take up our royal trade, 

Men, ev'n men, do now dissemble, 
In the dust our empire's laid. 

Tutor'd by the wise and grave, 
Loath I was to be a slave ; 

Mistress sounded arbitrary ; 
So I chose to hide my flame, 
Friendship, a discreeter name j 

But she scorns one jot to vary, 
She will love, or nothing, claim. 

Be a lover, or pretend, 

Rather than the warmest friend ; 

Friendship of another kind is, 
Swedish coin of gross allay, 
A cart-load will scarce defray ? 

Love, one grain is worth the Indies^ 
Only love is current pay. 



222 INGENIOUS AND 



A h ! Chloris, could I now but sit 

As unconcern'd as when 
Your infant beauty could beget 

No happiness nor pain ! 
When I this dawning did admire, 

And prais'd the coming day, 
I little thought that rising fire 

Would take my rest away. 

Your charms in harmless childhood lay 

As metals in a mine 3 
Age from no face takes more away 

Than youth concealed in thine : 
But as your charms insensibly 

To their perfection prest, 
So love, as unperceiv'd, did fly, 

And center' d in my breast. 

My passion with your beauty grew, 

While Cupid, at my heart, 
Still as his mother favoured you, 

Threw a new flaming dart : 
Each gloried in their wanton part - 9 

To make a beauty, she 
Employ'd the utmost of her art ; 

To make a lover, he. 



WITTY SONGS. 223 



1 h e Graces and the wand'ring Loves 

Are fled to distant plains, 
To chase the fawns, or in deep groves 

To wound admiring swains. 
With their bright mistress there they stray, 

Who turns her careless eyes 
From daily triumphs ; yet, each day, 
Beholds new triumphs in her way, 

And conquers while she flies. 

But see ! implor'd by moving prayers, 

To change the lover's pain, 
Venus her harness'd doves prepares, 

And brings the fair again. 
Proud mortals,, who this maid pursue, 

Think you, she'll e'er resign ? 
Cease, fools, your wishes to renew, 
Till she grows flesh and blood, like you -, 

Or you, like her, divine. 



[Waller.] 

Oay, lovely dream, where could'st thou find 
Shadows to counterfeit that face ? 
Colours of this glorious kind, 

Come not from any mortal place. 



224 INGENIOUS AND 

In heaven itself thou sure wert drest 
With that angel-like disguise ; 
Thus deluded am I blest, 

And see my joy with closed eyes. 

But ah ! this image is too kind 
To be other than a dream ! 
Cruel Sacharissa's mind 

Never put on that sweet extreme. 

Fair dream, if thou intend* st me grace, 
Change that heavenly face of thine; 
Paint despis'd love in thy face,, 

And make it to appear like mine. 

Pale, wan, and meagre let it look, 
With a pity-moving shape, 
Such as wander by the brook 

Of Lethe ; or from graves escape. 

Then to that matchless nymph appear, 
In whose shape thou shin est so, 
Softly in her sleeping ear, 

With humble words express my woe. 

Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride, 
Thus surprised she may fall : 
Sleep does disproportion hide. 

And death resembling equals all. 



WITTY SONGS. 225 



[Marvell.] 

G o M E, little infant, love me now, 
While thine unsuspected years 

Clear thine aged father's brow 
From cold jealousy and fears. 

Pretty, surely, 'twere to see 
By young Love old Time beguil'd, 

While our sportings are as free 
As the nurse's with the child. 

Common beauties stay fifteen, 

Such as yours should swifter move., 

Whose fair blossoms are too green 
Yet for lust, but not for love. 

Love as much the snowv lamb, 
Or the wanton kid does prize^ 

As the lusty bull or ram, 
For his morning sacrifice. 

Now then love me, time may take 
Thee before thy time away ; 

Of this need we'll virtue make, 
And learn love before we may. 
a 



226 INGENIOUS AND 

So we win of doubtful Fate ; 

And if good to us she meant, 
We that good should antedate, 

Or if ill, that ill prevent. 

Thus as kingdoms frustrating 
Other titles to their crown, 

In the cradle crown their king, 
So all foreign claims to drown. 

So to make all rivals vain 

Now I crown thee with my love ; 

Crown me with thy love again. 

And we both shall monarchs prove. 



A SIGH. 

Vjtentle air, thou breath of lovers, 
Vapour from a secret fire, 
Which by thee itself discovers, 

Ere yet daring to aspire. 

Softest note of whisper'd anguish, 

Harmony's refined part, 
Striking, while thou seem'st to languish, 

Full upon the list'ners heart. 



WITTY SONGS. 227 

Safest messenger of passion, 

Stealing thro' a cloud of spies, 
Which constrain the outward fashion, 

Close the lips, and guard the eyes. 

Shapeless sigh, we ne'er can show thee, 

Form'd but to assault the ear ; 
Yet ere to their cost they know thee, 

Every nymph may read thee here. 



[Cowley.] 

Ohe loves, and she confesses too ; 
Then there's at last no more to do ; 
The happy work's entirely done, 
Enter the town which thou hast won. 
The fruits of conquest now begin, 
lotriumphe! enter in. 

What's this, ye gods, what can it be ? 
Remains there still an enemy ? 
Bold honour stands up in the gate, 
And would yet capitulate. 
Have I o'ercome all real foes, 
And shall this phantom me oppose ? 



228 INGENIOUS AND 

Noisy nothings stalking shade, 
By what witchcraft wert thou made ? 
Empty cause of solid harms ! 
But I shall find out counter charms, 
Thy airy devilship to remove 
From this circle here of love. 

Sure I shall rid myself of thee 
By the night's obscurity, 
And obscurer secrecy. 
Unlike to every other spright, 
Thou attempt'st not men t'afTright, 
Nor appear'st, but in the light. 



[Suckling.] 

lis now since I sat down before 
That foolish fort, a heart, 
(Time strangely spent) a year and more, 
And still I did my part. 

Made my approaches, frorrther hand 

Unto her lip did rise, 
And did already understand 

The language of her eyes. 



WITTY SONGS. 229 

Proceeded on with no less art, 

My tongue was engineer ; 
I thought to undermine the heart 

By whispering in the ear. 

When this did nothing, I brought down 

Great cannon oaths, and shot 
A thousand thousand to the town, 

And still it yielded not. 

I then resolv'd to starve the place 

By cutting off all kisses, 
Praising and gazing on her face, 

And all such little blisses. 

To draw her out and from her strength, 

I drew all batteries in ; 
And brought myself to lie at length 

As if no siege had been. 

When I had done what man could do, 

And thought the place my own, 
The enemy lay quiet too, 

And smiFd at all was done. 

I sent to know from whence and where, 

These hopes, and this relief; 
A spy inform'd, Honour was there, 

And did command in chief. 



230 INGENIOUS AND 

March, march (quoth I), the word straight give, 
Let's lose no time, but leave her; 

That giant upon air will live, 
And hold it out for ever. 

To such a place our camp remove 

As will no siege abide : 
I hate a fool that starves her love 

Only to feed her pride. 



L u rsuing beauty, men descry 
The distant shore, and long to prove 

(Still richer in variety) 
The treasures of the land of love. 

We women like weak Indians stand, 
Inviting from our golden coast 

The wand'ring rovers to our land ; 
But she who trades with them is lost, 

With humble vows they first begin, 
Stealing unseen into the heart ; 

But by possession settled in, 
They quickly act another part. 



WITTY SONGS. 231 

For beads and baubles we resign 

In ignorance our shining store ; 
Discover nature's richest mine, 

And yet the tyrants will have more. 

Be wise, be wise, and do not try 
How he can court, or you be won ; 

For love is but discovery ; 

When that is made, the pleasure's done. 



[Mrs. Pilkington.] 

Otella and Flavia every hour 

Do various hearts surprise ; 
In Stella's soul is all her power, 

And Flavians in her eyes. 
More boundless Flavians conquests are, 

And Stella's more confm'd ; 
All can discern a face that's fair, 

But few a heavenly mind. 

Stella, like Britain's monarch, reigns 

O'er cultivated lands m , 
Like eastern tyrants Flavia deigns 

To rule o'er barren sands. 



232 INGENIOUS AND 

Then boast, fair Flavia, boast thy face, 

Thy beauty's only store, 
Each day that makes thy charms' decrease 

Will yield to Stella more. 



[Mrs. Barbaujld.] 

W hen gentle Celia first I knew, 
A breast so good, so kind, so true, 

Reason and taste approv'd ; 
Pleas'd to indulge so pure a flame, 
I call'd it by too soft a name, 

And fondly thought I lov'd. 

Till Chloris came, with sad surprise 
I felt the lightning of her eyes 

Thro' all my senses run ; 
All glowing with resistless charms, 
She fill'd my breast with new alarms,. 

I saw, and was undone. 

Celia ! dear unhappy maid, 
Forbear the weakness to upbraid 

Which ought your scorn to move : 

1 know this beauty false and vain, 
I know she triumphs in my pain, 

Yet still I feel I love. 



WITTY SONGS. 233 

Thy gentle smiles no more can please, 
Nor can thy softest friendship ease 

The torments I endure^ - 
Think what that wOunded breast must feel 
Which truth and kindness cannot heal, 

Nor even thy pity cure. 

Oft shall I curse my iron chain, 
And wish again thy milder reign 

With long and vain regret \ 
All that I can, to thee I give, 
And could I still to reason live 

I were thy captive yet. 

But passion's wild impetuous sea 
Hurries me far from peace and thee, 

'Twere vain to struggle more : 
Thus the poor sailor slumbering lies, 
While swelling tides around him rise, 

And push his bark from shore. » 

In vain he spreads his helpless arms, 
His pitying friends with fond alarms 

In vain deplore his state ; 
Still far and farther from the coast, 
On the high surge his bark is tost, 

And foundering yields to fate. 



234 INGENIOUS AND 



[Mrs. Barbauld.] 

W hen first upon your tender cheek 
I saw the morn of beauty break 

With mild and chearing beam, 
I bow'd before your infant shrine, 
The earliest sighs you had were mine, 

And you my darling theme. 

I saw you in that opening morn 
For beauty's boundless empire born, 

And first confess'd your sway ; 
And ere your thoughts, devoid of art, 
Could learn the value of a heart, 

I gave my heart away. 

I watch'd the dawn of every grace, 
And gaz'd apon that angel face, 

While yet 'twas safe to gaze ; 
And fondly blest each rising charm, 
Nor thought such innocence could harm 

The peace of future days. 



WITTY SONGS. 235 

But now despotic o'er the plains 
The awful noon of beauty reigns, 

And kneeling crowds adore ; 
These charms arise too fiercely bright, 
Danger and death attend the sight, 

And I must hope no more. _ 

Thus to the rising God of day 
Their early vows the Persians pay, 

And bless the spreading fire -, 
Whose glowing chariot mounting soon 
Pours on their heads the burning noon, 

They sicken and expire. 



[Charles Dryden.] 



A s Ariana young and fair 

By night the starry choir did tell, 
She found in Cassiopeia's chair 

One beauteous light the rest excel : 
This happy star unseen before, 

Perhaps was kindled from her eyes, 
And made for mortals to adore 

A new-born glory in the skies. 



236 INGENIOUS AND 

Or if within the sphere it grew. 

Before she gaz'd, the lamp was dim ; 
But from her eyes the sparkles flew 

That gave new lustre to the gem : 
Bright omen ! what dost thou portend, 

Thou threat'ning beauty of the sky ; 
What great, what happy monarch's end ? 

For sure by thee 'tis sweet to die. 

Whether to thy foreboding fire 

We owe the crescent in decay ; 
Or must the mighty Gaul expire, 

A victim to thy fatal ray ? 
Such a presage will late be shewn 

Before the world in asbes lies ; 
But if less ruin will atone, 

Let Strephon's only fate suffice. 



When first I saw Lucinda's face, 
And view'd the dazzling glories there, 

She seem'd of a diviner race, 
Than that wbich nature planted here. 



WITTY SONGS. 2$7 

With sacred homage down I feel, 

Wond'ring whence such a form could spring \ 
Tell me, I cried, fair vision, tell 

The dread commands from heaven you bring. 

For if past sins may be forgiven, 

- By this bright evidence I know 
The careful Gods have made a heaven, 
That made such angels for it too. 



[Waller,] 

kj H l o r i s, yourself you so excel, 

When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, 
That like a spirit, with this spell 

Of my own teaching, I am caught. 

The eagle's fate and mine are one, 

Which on the shaft that made him die 

Espied a feather of his own, 

Wherewith he used to soar so high. 

Had Echo with so sweet a grace 
Narcissus' loud complaints return'd, 

Not for reflection of his face, 

But of his voice, the boy had burn'd. 



238 INGENIOUS AND 



[Mrs. Taylor.") 

utrbphon has fashion, wit and youth 
- With all things else that please ; 
He nothing wants but love and truth 

To ruin me with ease : 
But he is flint, and bears the art 

To kindle strong desire ; 
His pow'r inflames another's heart, 

Yet he ne'er feels the fire. 

O ! how it does my soul perplex, 

When I his charms recall, 
To think he should despise the sex, 

Or worse, should love 'em all. 
My wearied heart, like Noah's dove, 

Thus seeks in vain for rest ; 
Finding no hope to fix its love, 

Returns into my breast. 



At Cynthia's feet I ^igh'cl, I pray'd, 
And wept : yet all the while 

The cruel unrelenting maid 
Scarce paid me with a smile. 



WITTY SONGS. 239 

Such foolish timorous arts as these 

Wanted the power to charm ; 
They were too innocent to please, 

They were too cold to warm. 

Resolv'd, I rose, and softly prest 

The lilies of her neck 5 
With longing eager lips I kist 

The roses of her cheek. 

Charm'd with this boldness, she relents, 

And burns with equal fire ; 
To all my wishes she consents, 

And crowns my fierce desire. 

With heat like this Pygmalion mov'd 

His statue's icy charms 5 
Thus warm'd, the marble virgin lov'd, 

And melted in his arms. 



240 INGENIOUS AND 



W ine ; wine in the morning 
Makes us frolick and gay, 

That like eagles we soar 
In the pride of the day ; 

Gouty sots of the night 
Only find a decay. 

'Tis the sun ripes the grape, 
And to drinking gives light ; 

We imitate him 

When by noon we're at height ; 

They steal wine who take it 
When he's out of sight. 

Boy, fill all the glasses, 

Fill them up now he shines ; 

The higher he rises 
The more he refines, 

For wine and wit fall 
As their maker declines. 



WITTY SONGS. 24 L 



[Sir William Yonge.] 



i n. vain, dear Chloe, you suggest 
That I, inconstant, have possest 

Or lov'd a fairer she ; 
Would you with ease at once be cur'd 
Of all the ills you've long endur'd, 

Consult your glass and me. 

If then you think that I can find 

A nymph more fair, or one more kind, 

You've reason for your fears ; 
But if impartial you will prove 
To your own beauty or my love, 

How needless are your tears ! 

If in my way I should by chance 
Receive, or give a wanton glance, 

I like but while I view $ 
How slight the glance, how faint the kiss, 
Compar'd to that substantial bliss, 

Which I receive from you ! 

R 



242 INGENIOUS AND 

With wanton flight the curious bee 
From flower to flower still wanders free ; 

And where each blossom blows, 
Extracts the juice from all he meets, 
But, for his quintessence of sweets, 

He ravishes tae rose. 

So my fond fancy to employ 
On each variety cf joy, 

From nymph to nymph I roam 
Perhaps see fifty in a day, 
These are but visits that I pay, 

For Chloe is my home. 



Should some perverse malignant star 
(As envious stars will sometimes shine) 

Throw me from my Florella far, 
Let not my lovely fair repine 

If in her absence I should gaze 

With pleasure on another's face. 

The wearied pilgrim, when the sun 

Has ended his diurnal race, 
With pleasure sees the friendly moon 

By borrow'd light, supply his place : 
Not that he slights the God of day, 
But loves ev'n his reflected ray. 



WITTY SONGS. 243 



W h y will Florella, while I gaze, 

My ravish'd eyes reprove, 
And chide them from the only face 

They can behold with love ? 

To shun your scorn, and ease my care, 
I seek a nymph more kind, 

And while I rove from fair to fair 
Still gentle usage find. 

But oh ! how faint is every joy 
Where nature has no part ; 

New beauties may my eyes employ, 
But you engage my heart. 

So restless exiles doom'd to roam 

Meet pity every where ; 
Yet languish for their native home, 

Tho' death attends th«m there. 



ORIGINAL PIECES. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

IN the former Edition, the greater part of the fol- 
lowing article consisted of some pieces, which having 
since appeared in a publication of Miscellaneous 
Poems, are now incorporated with the foregoing Col- 
lection. The very favourable reception they met with, 
in common with the other productions of their Author, 
will, it is haped, prevent the imputation of fraternal 
partiality in allotting them a place among pieces of 
acknowledged poetical merit. 



ORIGINAL PIECES. 247 



EDWIN AND ETHELINPE.* 

i i One parting kiss, my Ethelinde I" 

Young Edwin fault'ring cried, 
" I hear thy father's hasty tread, 

Nor longer must I bide. 

To-morrow eve, in yonder wood, 

Beneath the well-known tree, 
Say, wilt thou meet thy own true love, 

Whose only joy's in thee ?" 

She clasp' d the dear beloved youth, 

And sigh'd and dropt a tear ; 
" Whatever betide, my only love, 

I'll surely meet thee there." 

They kiss, they part ; a list'ning page 

To malice ever bent, 
O'erheard their talk, and to his lord 

Reveal'd their fond intent. 

* This piece was printed a few years since in the Gen- 
tleman's Magazine, 



248 ORIGINAL PIECES. 

The baron's brow grew dark with frowns, 
And rage distain'd his cheek, 

" Heavens ! shall a vassal shepherd dare 
My daughter's love to seek ! 

But know, rash boy, thy bold attempt 

Full sorely shalt thou rue ; 
Nor e'er again, ignoble maid, 

Shalt thou thy lover view." 

The dews of evening fast did fall, 

And darkness spread apace, 
When Ethelinde with beating breast 

Flew to th' appointed place. 

With eager eye she looks around, 

No Edwin there was seen ; 
" He was not wont to break his faith, 

What can his absence mean !" 

Her heart beat thick at every noise, 
Each rustling thro' the wood ; 

And now she travers'd quick the ground. 
And now she list'ning stood. 

Enlivening hope and chilling fear 

By turns her bosom share, 
And now she calls upon his name, 

Now weeps in sad despair. 



ORIGINAL PIECES. 249 

Mean-time the day's last glimmerings fled, 

And blackening all the sky 
A hideous tempest dreadful rose, 

And thunders roll'd t>n high. 

Poor Ethelinde aghast, dismay' d, 

Beholds with wild affright 
The threatening sky, the lonely wood, 

And horrors of the night. 

" Where art thou now, my Edwin dear S 

Thy friendly aid I want ; 
Ah me ! my boding heart foretels 

That aid thou canst not grant." 

Thus rack'd with pangs, and beat with storms 

Confus'd and lost she roves ; 
Now looks to heaven with earnest prayer, 

Now calls on him she loves. 

At length a distant taper's ray 

Struck beaming on her sight ; 
Thro' brakes she guides her fainting steps 

Towards the welcome light. 
- 
An aged hermit peaceful dwelt 

In this sequester'd wild, 
Calm goodness sat upon his brow, 

His words were soft and mild. 



250 ORIGINAL PIECES. 

He ope'd his hospitable door, 
And much admiring view'd 

The tender virgin's graceful form, 
Dash'd by the tempest rude. 

u Welcome, fair maid, whoe'er thou art, 
To this warm shelter'd cell ; 

Here rest secure thy wearied feet, 
Here peace and safety dwell/ 

He saw the heart-wrung starting tear, 
And gently sought to know 

With kindest pity's soothing looks, 
The story of her woe. 

Scarce had she told her mournful tale, 
When struck with dread they hear 

Voices confused with dying groans, 
The cell approaching near. 

" Help, father ! help," they loudly cry, 
ec A wretch here bleeds to death,, 

Some cordial balsam quickly give 
To stay his parting breath." 

All deadly pale they lay him down, 
And gash'd with many a wound ; 

When, woeful sight ! 'twas Edwin's self 
Lay bleeding on the ground. 



ORIGINAL PIECES. 251 

With frantic grief poor Ethelinde 

Besides his body falls ; 
" Lift up thine eyes,\my Edwin dear, 
— Tis Ethelinde that calls." 

That much loy'd sound recalls his life, 

He lifts his closing eyes, 
Then feebly murmuring out her name, 

He gasps, he faints, he dies. 

Stupid a while, in dumb despair 

She gaz'd on Edwin dead ; 
Dim grew her eyes, her lips turn'd pale, 

And life's warm spirit fled. 



A DIRGE. 

J3o w the head, thou lily fair, 
Bow the head in mournful guise ; 
Sickly turn thy shining white, 
Bend thy stalk, and never rise. 

Shed thy leaves, thou lovely rose, 
Shed thy leaves so sweet and gay ; 
Spread them wide on the cold earth, 
Quickly let them fade away. 



252 ORIGINAL PIECES. 

Fragant woodbine all untwine, 
All untwine from yonder bower ; 
Drag thy branches on the ground, 
Stain with dust each tender flower. 

For, woe is me ! the gentle knot, 
That did in willing durance bind 
My Emma and her happy swain, 
By cruel death is now untwined. 

Her head with dim half-closed eyes, 
Is bowed upon her breast of snow 5 
And cold and faded are those cheeks, 
That wont with cheerful red to glow. 

And mute is that harmonious voice, 
That wont to breathe the sounds of love; 
And lifeless are those beauteous limbs, 
That with such ease and grace did move. 

And I of all my bliss bereft, 
Lonely and sad must ever moan ; 
Dead to each joy the world can give, 
Alive to memory alone. 



ORIGINAL PIECES. 253 



TO SLEEP. 

(jome, gentle god of soft repose, 
Come sooth this tortur'd breast \ 

Shed kind oblivion o'er my woes, 
And lull my cares to rest. 

Come, gentle God, without thy aid 

I sink in dark despair ; 
O wrap me in thy silent shade, 

For peace is only there. 

Let hope in some propitious dream 
Her bright illusions spread; 

Once more let rays of comfort beam 
Around my drooping head. 

O quickly send thy kind relief, 
These heartfelt pangs remove 3 

Let me forget myself, my grief, 
And every care — but love. 



254 ORIGINAL PIECES. 



A s pas i a rolls her sparkling eyes, 
And every bosom feels her power > 
The Indians thus view Phoebus rise, 
And gaze in rapture, and adore. 
Quick to the soul the piercing splendors dart, 
Fire every vein, and melt the coldest heart. 

Aspasia speaks j the listening crowd 

Drink in the sound with greedy ears 
Mute are the giddy and the loud, 
And self-admiring folly hears. 
Her wit secures the conquests of her face ; 
Points every charm, and brightens every grace. 

Aspasia moves ; her well turn'd limbs 
Glide stately with harmonious ease ; 
Now thro' the mazy dance she swims, 
Like a tall bark o'er summer seas ; 
'Twas thus iEneas knew the queen of love, 
Majestic moving thro' the golden grove. 



ORIGINAL PIECES. 255 

But ah ? how cruel is my lot, 

To doat on one so heavenly fair ; 
For in my humble state forgot, 

Each charm but adds to my despair. 
The tuneful swan thus faintly warbling lies, 
Looks on his mate, and while he sings, he dies. 



SUPPLEMENT 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 



ARIEL'S SONG. 

[Shakspeare.] 



W here the bee sucks, there lurk 1 5 
In a cowslip's bell I lie, 
There I couch when owls do cry 5 
On the bat's back I do fly, 
After sun-set merrily; 
Merrily, merrily shall I live now 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 



SPRING, 

[Shakspeare.] 

W hen daisies pied and violets blue, 
And lady smocks, all silver white, 

And cuckow-buds of yellow hue 
Do paint the meadows with delight, 



260 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

The cuckow then on every tree 

Mocks married men, for thus sings he — 

Cuekow ! 

Cuckow ! cuckow ! O word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear. 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 

When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks ; 

The cuckow then on every tree 

Mocks married men, for thus sings he j 

Cuckow ! 

Cuckow, cuckow, O word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear. 



[Shakspeare.] 

Digh no more, ladies, sigh no more, 

Men were deceivers ever; 
One foot in sea, and one on shore ; 
To one thing constant never : 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go, 
And be you blithe and bonny 3 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 261 

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 

Of dumps so dull and heavy 5 
The fraud of men was ever so, 

Since summer first was leafy. 
Then sigh not so, &c. 

• ■ i 
[Shakspeaee.] 

1 are, oh take, those lips away 
That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain ! 

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow 
Which thy frozen bosom bears ; 
On whose tops the pinks that grow 
Are of those that April wears : 
But first set my poor heart free, 
Bound in those icy chains by thee ! 



THE SILENT LOVER. 

[Sir Walter Raleigh.] 



W rong not 3 sweet mistress of njy heart 

The merit of true passion, 
With thinking that he feels no smart. 

Who sues for no compassion. 



262 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

Since, if my plaints were not t' approve 
The conquest of thy beauty, 

It comes not from defect of love, 
But fear t' exceed my duty. 

For knowing that I sue to serve 
A saint of such perfection, 

As all desire, but none deserve 
A place in her affection. 

I rather choose to want relief 
Than venture the revealing : 

Where glory recommends the grief, 
Despair disdains the healing. 

Thus those desires that boil so high 

In any mortal lover, 
When reason cannot make them die, 

Discretion them must cover, 

Yet when discretion doth bereave 
The plaints that I could utter, 

Then your discretion may perceive 
That silence is a suitor. 

Silence in love bewrays more woe 
Than words, though ne'er so witty \ 

A beggar that is dumb, you know, 
May challenge double pity. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 26$ 

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, 

My love for secret passion : 
He smarteth most that hides his smart, 

And sues for no compassion. 



[Ben Jonson.] 

JL) R i n k to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And '11 not ask for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 

Doth ask a drink divine, 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honouring thee, 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not wither' d be ; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 



264 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[Lord Brook.] 



Aw a y with these self-loving lads, 

Whom Cupid's arrow never glads ! 

Away, poor souls, that sigh and weep, 

In love of those that be asleep : 
For Cupid is a merry God, 
And forceth none to kiss the rod. 

Sweet Cupid's shafts, like destiny, 

Do causeless good, or ill decree, 

Desert is borne out of his bow, 

Reward upon his wing doth go. 

What fools are they that have not known 
That love likes no laws but his own. 

My songs they be of Cynthia's praise, 

I Wear her rings on holidays, 

On every tree I write her nanie, 

And ev'ry day I read the same 5 
Where Honour Cupid's rival is 
These miracles are seen of his. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 2G5 

The worth that worthiness should move 

Is love, that is the bow of love ; 

And love as well thee foster can 

As can the mighty nobleman. 

Sweet saint, 'tis true you worthy be 
Yet, without love, nought worth to me ! 



[Barton Booth.] 



Owebt are the charms of her I love, 
More fragrant than the damask rose, 

Soft as the down of turtle dove, 
Gentle as air when zephyr blows, 

Refreshing as descending rains 

To sun-burnt climes, and thirsty plains. 

True as the needle to the pole, 

Or as the dial to the sun : 
Constant as gliding waters fall, 

Whose swelling tides obey the moon ; 
From every other charmer free, 
My life and love shall follow thee. 



266 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

The lamb the flowery thyme devours. 
The dam the tender kid pursues, 

Sweet Philomel, in shady bowers 
Of verdant spring her note renews ; 

All follow what they most admire, 

As I pursue my soul's desire. 

Nature must change her beauteous face, 
And vary as the seasons rise ; 

As winter to the spring gives place, 
Summer, th' approach of winter flies : 

No change on love the seasons bring, 

Love only knows perpetual spring. 

Devouring Time, with stealing pace, 
Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow : 

And marble towers, and gates of brass, 
In his rude march he levels low ; 

But Time, destroying far and wide, 

Love from the soul can ne'er divide. 

Death only, with his cruel dart, 
The gentle Godhead can remove ; 

And drive him from the bleeding heart 
To mingle with the bless'd above, 

Where, known to all his kindred train^ 

He finds a lasting rest from pain. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 267 

Love, and his sister fair, tlie soul, 

Twin-born, from heaven together came ; 

Love will the universe control, 

When dying seasons lose their name ; 

Divine abodes shall own his power, 

When time and death -shall be no more. 



[Sir Gilbert Elliot.] 



JM y sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook, 
And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook : 
No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove ; 
Ambition, I said, would -soon cure me of love. 
But what had my youth w r ith ambition to do ? 
Why left I Amynta ? why broke I my vow ? 

Through regions remote in vain do I rove, 
And bid the wide world secure me from love. 
Ah, fool, to imagine that aught could subdue 
A love so well founded, a passion so true ! 
Ah give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore, 
And ril. wander from love and Amynta no more. 



2GS MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

Alas ! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine ! 
Poor shepherd, Amynta no more can be thine ! 
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, 
The moments neglected, return not again. 
Ah ! what had my youth with ambition to do ? 
Why left I Amynta ? why broke I my vow ? 



[Byrom.] 

JM y time, O ye Muses ! was happily spent, : 
When * Phoebe went with me wherever I went : 
Ten thousand soft pleasures I felt in my breast 5 
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest ! 
But now she is gone, and has left me behind, 
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find ! 
When things were as fine as could possibly be, 
I thought 'twas the spring, but, alas ! it was she. 

With such a companion to tend a few sheep, 
To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep ; 
I was so good-humour'd, so cheerful, and gay, 
My heart was as light as a feather all day. , 

* The lady here celebrated under the name of Phcebe, 
was Joanna, daughter of the great critic Eentley, and 
mother of Mr. Cumberland, the dramatic writer. 



MISCELLANEOUS.SONGS. 2G9 

But now I so cross, and so peevish am grown, 
So strangely uneasy as never was known ; 
My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd, 
And my heart — I am sure it weighs more than a 
pound. 

The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, 
And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among, 
Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, 
'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear \ 
But now she is absent, I walk by its side, 
And still as it murmurs, do nothing but chide ; 
Must you be so cheerful^ while I go in pain ? 
Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me 
complain. 

When my lambkins around me would oftentimes 

play, 
And when Phoebe and I were as joyful as they, 
How pleasant their sporting, how happy the time, 
When spring, love, and beauty were all in their prime ! 
But now in their frolics, when by me they pass, 
I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass ; 
Be still then, I cry, for it makes me quite mad, 
To see you so 'merry, while I am so sad. 

My dog I was ever well pleased to see. 
Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me ; 
And Phcebe was pleas'd too, and to my dog said, 
Come hither, poor fellow j and patted his head : 



270 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

But now, when he's fawning, I, with a 1 sour look, 
Cry, sirrah ; and give him a blow with my crook : 
And I'll give him another, for why should not Tray 
Be dull as his master, when Phoebe's away. 

When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen ! 
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green ! 
Whal a lovely appearance the trees and the shade, 
The corn fields and hedges, and every thing made 1 
But since she has left me, though all are still there, 
They none of them now so delightful appear : 
'Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes 
Made so many beautiful prospects arise. 

Sweet music went with us both, all the wood 

through, 
The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too ; 
Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, 
And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet : 
But now she is absent, though still they sing on, 
The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone : 
Her voice in the concert, as now I have found, 
Gave every thing else its agreeable sound. 

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue ? 

And where is the violet's beautiful blue ? 

Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile ? 

That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile 2 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 2?1 

Ah, rivals ! I see what it was that you dress'd, 
And made yourselves fine for ; a place in her breast : 
You put on your colours to pleasure her eye, 
To be pluck'd by her hand, on her bosom to die. 

How slowly time creeps, till my Phoebe return ! 
While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn ; 
Methinks, if I knew v/hereabout he would tread, 
I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down 

the lead, 
Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring~hither my dear, 
And rest so much longer for % when she is here. 
Ah, Colin ! old Time is full of delay, 
Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say. 

Will no pitying power that hears me complain, 
Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain ? 
To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove : 
But what swain is so silly to live without love ? 
No, Deity, bid the dear nymph to return, 
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. 
Ah ! what shall I do ? I shall die with despair I 
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye love one so fair. 



272 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 



[Logan.] 

J ii e day is departed, and round from the cloud. 

The moon in her beauty appears ; 
The voice of the nightingale warbles aloud, 

The music of love in our ears : 
Maria, appear ! now the season so sweet 

With the beat of the heart is in tune ; 
The time is so tender for lovers to meet 

Alone by the light of the moon. 

I cannot when present unfold what I feel 

I sigh — can a lover do more ? 
Her name to the shepherds I never reveal, 

Yet I think of her all the day o'er. 
Maria, my love ! do you long for the grove ? 

Do you sigh for our interview soon ! 
Does e'er a kind thought run on me as you rove ? 

Alone by the light of the moon ? 

Your name from the shepherds whenever I hear, 

My bosom is all in a glow ; 
Your voice when it vibrates so sweet through my ear 

My heart thrills — my eyes overflow. 
Ye powers of the sky, wil! your bounty divine 

Indulge a fond lover his boon ? 
Shall heart spring to heart, and Maria be mine 

Alone by the light of the moon ? 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 273 



W e all to conquering beauty bow, 

Its pleasing pow'r admire ; 
But I ne'er saw a face till now 

That could like your's inspire : 
Now I may say IVe met with one 

Amazes all mankind : 
And, like men gazing on the sun, 

With too much light am blind. 

Soft, as the tender moving sighs, 

When longing lovers meet : 
Like the divining prophets, wise ; 

Like new-blown roses, sweet: 
Modest, yet gay ; reserv'd, yet free j 

Each happy night a bride ; 
A mien like awful majesty, 

And yet no spark of pride. 

The patriarch, to gain a wife, 

Chaste, beautiful, and young, 
Serv'd fourteen years a painful life, 

And never thought it long : 
Ah ! were you to reward such cares, 

And life so long could stay, 
Not fourteen but four hundred years, 

Would seem but as one day. 

T 



274 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[E. Moore.] 

How blest has my time been, what days have I 

known 
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jesse my own ! 
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, 
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain. 

Through walks grown with woodbines, as often we 

stray, 
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play \ 
How pleasing their sport is the wanton ones see, 
And borrow their looks from my Jesse and me. 

To try her sweet temper sometimes am I seen 
In revels all day with the nymphs of the green ; 
Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, 
And meets me at night with compliance and smiles. 

What though on her cheek the rose loses its hue, 
Her ease and good humour bloom all the year 

through 5 
Time still as he flies brings encrease to her truth, 
And gives to her mind what he steals from her 

youth. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 27$ 

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, 
And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair, 
In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam ! 
To hold it for life, you must find it at home. 



[Mason.] 

W hen first I dar'd by soft surprise 
To breathe my love in Flavians ear, 

I saw the mixt sensations rise 

Of trembling joy, and pleasing fear : 

Her cheek forgot its rosy hue, 

For what has art with love to do ? 

But soon the crimson glow return'd, 
Ere half my passion was express'd, 
The eye that clos'd, the cheek that burn'd 
■ The quivering lip, the panting breast 
Shew'd that she wish'd or thought me true, 
For what has art with love to do ? 

Ah ! speak, I cried, thy soft assent : 

She strove to speak, she could but sigh ; 

A glance, more heav'nly eloquent, 
Left language nothing to supply. 

She pressed my hand with fervour new ; 

For what has art with love to do ? 



27B MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

Ye practis'd nymphs, who form your charms 
By fashion's rules, enjoy your skill ; 

Torment your swains with false alarms, 
And ere you cure pretend to kill ; 

Still, still your sex's wiles pursue, 

Such tricks she leaves to art and you. 

Secure of native charms to please, 
My Flavia scorns all mean pretence : 

Her form is elegance aud ease, 
Her soul is truth and innocence $ 

And these, oh heartfelt extacy ! 

She gives to honour, love, and me. 



THE ADIEU. 

[From the Arabic] 
JTarlyle.] 

Ihe boatmen shout " 'tis time to part, 

No longer we can stay ;" — 
" 'Twas then Maimuna taught my heart 

How much a glance could say. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 217 

With trembling steps to me she eame > 
" Farewell" she would have cried, 

But ere her lips the word could frame 
In half-form'd sounds it died. 

Then bending down with looks of love 

Her arms she round me flung, . 
And as the gale hangs on the grove. 

Upon my breast she hung. 

My willing arms embrac'd the maid, 

My heart with raptures beat -, 
While she but wept the more, and said, 

" Would we had never met L M 



ON LOVE. 

[From the Arabic.} 
v [Carly^e.] 

I never knew a sprightly fair 
That was not dear to me, 

And freely I my heart could share^ 
With every one I see, 



£78 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

It is not this or that alone 
- On whom my choice would fall, 
I do not more incline to one 
Than I incline to all. 

The circle's bounding line are they, 

Its centre is my heart. 
My ready love the equal ray 

That flows to every part. 



THE ENCHANTMENT; 



[Otway.3 

1 did but look and love awhile, 
'Twas but for half ah hour ; 

Then to resist I had no will, 
And now I have no pow'r. 

To sigh, and wish, is all my ease ; 

Sighs which do heat impart, 
Enough to melt the coldest ice, 

Yet cannot warm your heart. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 279 

Oh ! would your pity give my heart 

One corner of your breast ; 
'Twould learn of yours the winning art, 

And quickly steal the rest. 



[R. B. Sheridan.] 

A h ! cruel maid, how hast thou changed 

The temper of my mind i 
My heart by thee from mirth estrang'd, 

Becomes like thee unkind. 

By fortune favour' d, clear in fame, 

I once ambitious was y 
And friends I had that fann'd the flame, 

And gave my youth applause. 

But now my weakness all abuse, 

Yet vain their taunts on me ; 
Friends, fortune, fame itself, I'd lose, 

To gain one smile from thee. 

Yet only thou should'st not despise 

My folly or my woe ; 
If I am mad in others' eyes 

'Tis thou hast made them so. 



280 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

But days like these, with doubting curs' d, 

I will not long endure 
Am I despis'd — I know the worsts 

And also know nay cure. 

If, false, her vows she dare renounce, 

She instant ends my pain, 
For oh ! that heart must break at once 

Which cannot hate again. 



[R, B. Sheridan.} 

Asi^'st thou " how long my love shall stay, 

cc When all that's new is past ?" 
How long ? ah, Delia ! can I say 

How long my life will last ? 
Dry be that tear — be hush'd that sigh * 3 
At least, I'll love thee till I die. 

And does that thought affect thee too, 

The thought of Damon's death ; 
That he who only lives for you, 

Must yield his faithful breath ? 
Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, 
Nor let us lose our heaven here* 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 281 
THE ROSE. 

[COWPER.] 

J. h e rose had been washed, just wash'd in a show'r> 

Which Mary to Anna convey'd, 
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r, 
And weighed down its beautiful head. 

The cups were all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet. 

And it seemed, to a fanciful view, 
To weep for the buds it had left with regret 

On the flourishing bush where it grew, 

I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as is was 

For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, 

And swinging it rudely, too rudely alas ! 
I snapped it, it fell to the ground. 

And such I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part, 

Some act by the delicate mind, 
Regardless of wringing, and breaking a heart 

Already to sorrow resign'd. 

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, 

Might have bloom' d with its owner awhile, 

And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, 
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile, 



282 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 

[Henry Carey.] 

vJ f all the girls that are so smart, 

There's none like pretty Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart. 

And she lives in our alley. 
There is no lady in the land, 

Is half so sweet as Sally : 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Her father he makes cabbage-nets. 

And through the steets does cry J em $ 
Her mother she sells laces long, 

To such as please to buy 'em : 
But sure such folks could ne'er beget 

So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives our in our alley. 

When she is by, 1 leave my work 

(I love her so sincerely) 
My master comes like any Turk, 

And bangs me most severely : 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 283 

But, let him bang his belly full, 

I'll bear it all for Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Of all the days that's in the week, 

I dearly love but one day ; 
And that's the day that comes betwixt 

- A Saturday and Monday ; 
For then I'm dress'd all in my best, 

To walk abroad with Sally 5 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master carries me to church,' 

And often am I blamed, 
Because I leave him in the lurch, 

As soon as text is named : 
I leave the church in sermon time, 

And slink away to Sally 5 
She is the darling of my heart 

And she lives in our alley. 

When Christmas comes about again, 

Oh then I shall have money ; 
I'll hoard it up, and box it all, 

I'll give it to my honey : 



2S4 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 

I would it were ten thousand pounds, 

I'd give it all to Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master and the neighbours all, 

Make game of me and Sally ; 
And (but for her) I'd better be 

A slave, and row a galley ; 
But when my seven long years are out, 

Oh then Fll marry Sally, 
Oh then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, 

But not in our alley. 



[Vanbrugh.] 

1 s M i le at Love, and all his arts, 
The charming Cynthia cried ; 

Take heed, for Love has piercing darts, 
A wounded swain replied : 

Once free, and bless'd, as you are now, 

I trifled with his charms, 
In pointed at his little bow, 

And sported with his arms : 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 285 

Till urg'd too far—revenge, he cries 1 

A fatal shaft he drew, 
Which took its passage through your eyes, 

And to my heart it flew: 

To tear it thence I tried in vain, 

To strive, I quickly found, 
Was only to encrease my pain, 

And mortify the wound ; 

Too well, alas ! I fear you know, 

What anguish I endure, 
Since what your eyes alone could do, 

Your heart alone can cure. 



[H.Carey.] 

I'ix range around the shady bow'rs, 
And gather all the "sweetest flow'rs ; 
I'll strip the garden and the grove, 
To make a garland for my love. 

When in the sultry heat of day, 
My thirsty nymph does panting lay, 
I'll hasten to the fountain's brink, 
And drain the stream that she may drink. 



2S6 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

At night, when she shall weary prove, 
A grassy bed I'll make my love, 
And with green boughs I'll form a shade, 
That nothing may her rest invade. 

And, whilst dissolved in sleep she lies, 
Myself shall never close these eyes ; 
But gazing still with fond delight, 
I'll watch my charmer all the night. 

And then, as soon as cheerful day 
Has chas'd the gloomy shades away, 
Forth to the forest I'll repair, 
And find provision for my fair. 

Thus will I spend the day and night, 
Still mixing labour with delight, 
Regarding nothing I endure, 
So I can ease for her procure. 

But if the maid whom thus I love, 
Should e'er unkind or faithless prove, 
I'll seek some dismal distant shore. 
And never think of woman more. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 2S7 



[J. Moore.] 

When gay Philander fell a prize 

To Amoretta's conquering eyes, 

He took his pipe, he sought the plain, 

Regardless of his growing pain, 

And resolutely hent to wrest 

The bearded arrow from his breast. 

Come, gentle gales, the shepherd cried, 
Be Cupid and his bow defied : 
But as the gales obsequious flew 
With flow'ry scents and spicy dew, 
He did unknowingly repeat, 
The breath qf Amoret is sweet. 

His pipe again the shepherd tried, 
And warbling nightingales replied. 
Their sounds in rival measures move, 
And meeting echoes charm the grove. 
His thoughts that rovM again repeat, 
The voice of Anioret is sweet. 

Since ev'ry fair and lovely view - 
The thoughts of Amoret renew, 
From flow'ry lawn and shady green 
To prospect gloomy change the scene : 
Sad change for him ! for, sighing, there 
He thought of lovers in despair. 



288 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

Convinc'd, the sad Philander cries, 
Now, cruel god, assert your prize, 
For love its fatal empire gains -, 
Yet grant, in pity to my pains, 
These lines the nymph may oft repeat, 
And own Philander's lays are sweet. 



VV ith amorous wiles and perjur'd eyes, 

False Damon did me move 
Like charming winds his kindling sighs 

First fann'd me into love; 
My thriving passion he did feed 

Whilst it was young and slight ; 
But ah ! when there was greatest need, 

Alas ! he starves it quite. 

Was ever more injustice known, 

Oh, Damon, prithee say, 
To fit my heart for thee alone, 

And cast it now away : 
Henceforth my passion I shall hate, 

' Cause it gain'd none for me ; 
Yet love it too, such is my fate, 

Because it was for thee. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 289 

Thy heart I never will upbraid, 

Altho' it mine did kill ; 
Ah ! think upon an injur'd maid 

That's forc'd to love thee still. 
But justice may the tables turn 

In vindicating me ; 
And thou with equal torments burn 

For one who loves not thee. 



W i t h women I have pass'd my days, 

And ev'ry minute bless'd : 
No secret sigh controll'd my ease, 

No wish disturbed my rest. 
Thus void of care my hours have flown, 
For still I found my heart my own. 

I often prais'd a handsome face, 

Extoll'd a sparkling eye, 
And safe, examined ev'ry grace 

Without a real sigh. 
Thus void of care my hours have flown, 
For still I found my heart my own. 



290 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

I heard the force of sprightly wit, 
With strength of reason fir'd, 

Thoughts that a Muse's tongue might fit 
And each bright turn admir'd. 

Thus void of care my hours have flown, 

For still I found my heart my own. 

T listen'd to the Syren's voice 

By magic art improv'd : 
The Syren could not fix my choice, 

The song alone I lov'd. 
Thus void of care my hours have flown, 
For still I found my heart my own. 

But now, oh Love ! I own thy reign, 

I find thee in my heart ; 
I know, I feel the pleasing pain, 

'Twas Chloe threw the dart^ 
Chloe her utmost power has shewn, 
My heart is now no more my own. 

I saw, I heard, and felt the flame, 
For Chloe smil'd and spoke ; 

Oh Cupid, take another aim, 
Or else my heart is broke ! 

To Chloe let the dart be thrown, 

And make her heart na more her own. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 291 



[Earl of Dorset.] 

1 o all you ladies now at land,^ 
We men at sea indite ; 
But first would have you understand 

How hard it is to write : 
The Muses now, and Neptune too 
We must implore to write to you. 
With a fa, la, la, la, la. 

For though the Muses should prove kind, 

And fill our empty brain ; 
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind 

To wave the azure main, 
Our paper, pen and ink, and we 
Roll up and down our ships at sea. 
With a fa, &c. 

Then if we write not by each post, 

Think not we are unkind 5 
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost 

By Dutchmen or the wind : 
Our tears we'll send a speedier way, 
The tide- shall bring them twice a day. 
With a fa, &c, 

* Written at sea, in the first Dutch war, 1665, the night 
before an engagement. 



292 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 

The king with wonder and surprise 
Will swear the seas grow bold, 

Because the tides will higher rise 
Than ere they did of old ; 

But let him know it is our tears 

Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs. 

With a fa, &c. 

Should foggy Opdam chance to know 

Our sad and dismal story ; 
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, 

And quit their post at Goree : 
For what resistance can they find 
From men who've left their hearts behind. 
With a fa, &c. 

Let wind and weather do its worst, 

Be you to us but kind ; 
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, 

No sorrow we shall find : 
'Tis then no matter how things go, 
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. 
With a fa, &c. 

To pass our tedious hours away. 

We throw a merry main ; 
Or else at serious ombre play ; 

But why should we in vain 
Each other's ruin thus pursue ? 
We were undone when we left you. 
With a fa, &e. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 293 

But now our fears tempestuous grow, . 

And cast our hopes away ; 
Whilst you, regardless of our woe r 

Sit careless at a play : 
Perhaps permit some happier man 
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan. 
With a fa, &c. 

When any mournful tune you hear, 

That dies in ey'ry note ; 
As if it sigh'd with each man's care, 

For being so remote : 
Think then how often love we've made 
To you, when all those tunes were play'd. 
With a fa, &c. 

In justice you cannot refuse, 

To think of our distress, 
When we, for hopes of honour, lose 

Our certain happiness ; 
All those designs are but to prove 
Ourselves more worthy of your love. 
With a fa, &c. 

And now we've told you all our lovesj 

And likewise all our fears ; 
In hopes this declaration moves 

Some pity for our tears : 
Let's hear of no inconstancy, 
We have too much of that at sea. 
With a fa, la, la, la, la. 



29 i MISCELLANEOUS SONGS; 



[E. Moore.] 

You tell me Fm handsome, I know not how true, 
And easy, and chatty, and gcod-humour'd too, 
That my lips are as red as the rose-bud in June 
And my voice, like the nightingale's, sweetly in tune : 
All this has been told me by twenty before, 
But he that would win me, must flatter me more. 

If beauty frem virtue receive no supply, 
Or prattle from prudence, how wanting am I ! 
My ease and good-humour short raptures will bring, 
And my voice, like the nightingale's, knows but a 

spring. 
For charms such as these then, your praises give 

o'er, 
To love me for life, you must love me for more. 

Then talk to me not of a shape or an air, 
For Chloe, the wanton, can rival me there : 
'Tis virtue alone that makes beauty look gay, 
And brightens good-humour, as sunshine the day ; 
For that if you love me, your flame shall be true, 
And I, in my turn, may be taught to love too. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 295 



[E. Moore.] 

IIark! hark ! 'tis a voice from the tomb ! 

c( Come, Lucy/' it cries, ei come away ! 
The grave of my Collin has room, 

To rest thee beside his cold clay." 
I come, my dear Shepherd, I come j 

Ye friends and companions adieu, 
I haste to my Collin's dark home, 

To die on his bosom so true." 

All mournful the midnight bell rung, 

When Lucy, sad Lucy arose ; 
And forth to the green-turf she sprung, 

Where Collin's pale ashes repose. 
All wet with the night's chilling dew, 

Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground > 
While stormy winds over her blew, 

And night-ravens croak'd all around. 

" How long, my lov'd Collin," she cried, 
" How long must thy Lucy complain I 

How long shall the grave my love hide ? 
How long ere it join us again ? 



296 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

For thee thy fond Shepherdess liv'd, 
With thee o'er the world would she fly, 

For thee has she sorrowed and griev'd, 
For thee would she lie down and die. 

" Alas ! what avails it how dear 

Thy Lucy was once to her swain ! 
Her face like the lily so fair, 

And eyes that gave light to the plain ! 
The shepherd that left her is gone, 

That face and those eyes charm no more, 
And Lucy forgot and alone, 

To death shall her Collin deplore." 

While thus she lay sunk in despair, 

And mourn'd to the echoes around, 
Inflam'd all at once grew the air, 

And thunder shook dreadful the grounds 
46 1 hear the kind call and obey, 

Oh, Collin, receive me," she cried ! 
Then breathing a groan o'er his clay, 

She hung on his tomb-stone and died. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 297 



[Campbell.] 



A chieftain to the Highlands bound 
Cries, " Boatman do not tarry, 

And I'll give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry." 

" Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ?" 

" Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, 
And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 

cc And fast before her father's men, 
Three days we've fled together; 

For if he find us in the glen, 
My blood will stain the heather. 

€C His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 

Should they our steps discover, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride, 

When they have slain her lover," 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
" I'll go, my chief, I'm ready : 

It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady. 



298 MISCELLANEOUS SpNGS, 

U And by my word, tbe bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So, though the waves are raging white, 

I'll row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 
The water-wraith was shrieking, 

And in the scowl of heav'n each face 
Grew dark, as they were speaking. 

iC Oh ! haste thee, haste ;" the lady cries,' 
ee Though tempests round us gather, 

I'll meet the raging of the skies ; 
But not an angry father/" 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her ; 
When oh ! too strong for human hand 

The tempest gather' d o'er her. 

And still they row'd, amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing : 
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore : — 

His wrath was chang'd to wailing. 

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,. 

His child he did discover ; 
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 299 

u Come back, come back/' he cried in grief, 

ce Across this raging water, 
And I'll forgive your Highland chiefs 

My daughter, oh ! my daughter !" 

'Twas vain \ the loud wave lash'd the shore, 

Return or help preventing, 
The waters wild went o'er his child, 

And he was left lamenting. 



TO A FEMALE CUPBEARER, 

[From the Arabic] 

[Carlyle.] 

Cj o M e, Leila, fill the goblet up, 
Reach round the rosy wine, 

Think not that we will take the cup 
From any hand but thine. 

A draught like this 'twere vain to seek, 

No grape can such supply, 
It steals its tint from Leila's cheek, 

Its brightness from her eye. 



300 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



HUNTING SONG. 



Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
On the mountain dawns the day, 
All the jolly chace is here, 
With hawk and horse, and hunting spear ; 
Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 
<c Waken, lords and ladies gay." 



Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

The mist has left the mountains gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are streaming, 

Diamonds on the Drake are gleaming ; 

And foresters have busy been, 

To track the buck in thicket green - ? 

Now we come to chaunt our lay, 

a Waken, lords and ladies gay." 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 301 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the greenwood haste away 5 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot and tall of size, 
We can show the marks he made 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed 5 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 



Louder, louder, chaunt the lay, 

Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, 

Run a course as well as we ; 

Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, 

Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk 5 

Think of this, and rise with day, 

Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



502 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS 
LOVE. 

[Marlow.] 

LioME, live with me and be my love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That vallies, groves, or hills and fields, 
And all the steepy mountain yields. 

And we will sit upon the rocks, 
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

And I will make thee beds of roses, 
And a thousand fragrant posies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 

A gown made of the finest wool, 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Fair lined slippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold; 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 303 

A belt of straw, and ivy buds, 
With coral clasps and amber studs : 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Come, live with me, and be my love. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, 
For thy delight each May morning : 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me, and be my love. 



THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE 
SHEPHERD. 

[Sir Walter Raleigh.] 

Jl f all the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move, 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

Time drives the flocks from field to fold, 
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, 
And Philomel becometh dumb ; 
The rest complains of cares to come. 



S04 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reck'ning yields ; 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
Thy cap, thy kirtle and thy posies, 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs, 
All these in me no means can move, 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and love still breed, 
Had joy no date, nor age no need ; 
Then these delights my mind might move, 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 305 



THE MAD MAID'S SONG. 

[Herrick.] 

Good-morrow to the day so fair 

Good- morrow, sir, to you ; 
Good-morrow to mine own torn hair, 

Bedabbled with the dew. 

Good-morrow to this primrose too ; 

Good-morrow to each maid, 
That will with flow'rs the tomb bestrew, 

Wherein myjove is laid. 

I'll seek him there ! I know, ere this, 
The cold, cold earth doth shake him ; 

But I will go, or send a kiss 
By you, sir, to awake him. 

Pray, hurt him not ; though he be dead 
He knows well who do love him ; 

And who with green-turfs rear his head, 
And who do rudely move him. 
x 



306 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

He's soft and tender — pray, take heed — 
With bands of cowslips bind him, 

And bring him home — but 'tis decreed 
That I shall never find him. 



[Thomson.] 



Jtl ard is the fate of him who loves. 
Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, 

But to the sympathetic groves, 
But to the lonely list'ning plain. 

Oh ! when she blesses next your shade, 
Oh ! when her footsteps next are seen 

In flow'ry tracks along the mead, 
In fresher mazes o'er the green. 

Ye gentle spirits of the vale, 

To whom the tears of love are dear. 

From dying lilies waft a gale, 
And sigh my sorrows in her ear. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 307 

Oh, tell her what she cannot blame, 
Though fear my tongue must ever bind, 

Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame 
Is as her spotless soul renVd. \ 

\ 
Not her own guardian angel eyes, 

With chaster tenderness his care, 

Not purer her own wishes rise, 

Not holier her own sighs in prayer. 

But if at first her virgin fear 

Should start at love's suspected name, 
With that of friendship soothe her ear — 

True love and friendship are the same. 



THE FOND LOVER. 

[Falconer.] 

A nymph of ev'ry charm possess'd, 
That native virtue gives, 

Within my bosom all confess'd, 
In bright idea lives. 

For her my trembling numbers play- 
Along the pathless deep, 

While sadly social with my lay 
The winds in concert weep. 



308 .MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

If beauty's sacred influence charms 

The rage of adverse fate, 
Say why the pleasing soft alarms 

Such cruel pangs create ? 
Since all her thoughts by sense refin'd, 

Unartful truth express, 
Say wherefore sense and truth are join'd 

To give my soul distress ? 

If when her blooming lips I press, 

Which vernal fragrance fills, 
Through all my veins the sweet excess 

In trembling motion thrills; 
Say whence this secret anguish grows 

Congenial with my joy ? 
And why the touch, where pleasure glows, 

Should vital peace destroy ? 

If when my fair, in melting song, 

Awakes the vocal lay, 
Not all your notes, ye Phocian throng, 

Such pleasing sounds convey ; 
Thus wrapt all o'er with fondest love,^ 

Why heaves this broken sigh ? 
For then my blood forgets to move, 

I gaze, adore, and die, 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 309 

Accept, my charming maid; the strain 

Which you alone inspire ; 
To thee the dying strings complain 

That quiver on my lyre. 
Oh ! give this bleeding bosom ease, 

That knows no joy but thee ; 
Teach me thy happy art to please. 

Or deign to love like me. 



[Burgcyne.] 

r o r tenderness framed in life's early day, 
A parent's soft sorrows to mine led the way ; 
The lesson of pity was caught from her eye, 
And ere words were my own, I spoke in a sigh. 

The nightingale pi under' d, the mate-widow'd dove, 
The warbled complaint of the suffering grove, 
To youth as it ripen'd gave sentiment new, 
The object still changing, the sympathy true. 

Soft embers of passion yet rest in the glow — 
A warmth of more pain may this breast never 

know, 
Or if too indulgent the blessing T claim, 
Let reason awaken and govern the flame. 



3 10 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS 



[Sheridan.] 



Had la heart for falsehood fram'd, 

I ne'er could injure you ; 
For though your tongue no promise claim'd 

Your charms would make me true. 
To you no soul shall bear deceit, 

No stranger offer wrong, 
But friends in all the ag'd you'll meet, 

And lovers in the young. 

put when they learn that you have blest 

Another with your heart. 
They'll bid aspiring passions rest, 

And act a brother's part ; 
Then, lady, dread not here deceit, 

Nor fear to suffer wrong, 
For friends in all the ag'd you'll meet, 

And lovers in the young. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 3 1 1 



[Sheridan.] 



O h, had my love ne'er smil'd on me, 

I ne'er had known such anguish ; 
But think how false, how cruel she, 

To bid me cease to languish. 
To bid me hope her hand to gain, 

Breathe on a flame half perish'd ; 
And then with cold and fix'd disdain 

To kill the hope she cherish'd. 

Not worse his fate, who on a wreck, 

That drove as winds did blow it ; 
Silent had left the shatter'd deck, 

To find a grave below it. 
Then land was cried — no more resigned, 

He glow'd with joy to hear it; 
Not worse his fate, his woe to find, 

The wreck must sink ere near it. 



312 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[Sheridan.] 



1 ne'er could any lustre see 

In eyes that would not look on me ; 

I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, 

But where my own did hope to sip. 

Has the maid who seeks my heart 

Cheeks of rose, untouched by art ? 

I will own the colour true, 

When yielding blushes aid their hue, 

Is her hand so soft and pure ? 
I must press it to be sure ; 
Nor can I be certain then, 
Till it grateful press again ; 
Must I, with attentive eye, 
Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? 
I will do so, when I see 
That heaving bosom sigh for me. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 313 



[Sir W. Jones.] 



W ake, ye nightingales, oh, wake ! 

Can ye, idlers, sleep so long ? 
Quickly this dull silence break ; 

Burst enraptur'd into song : 
Shake your plumes, your eyes unclose, 
No pretext for more repose. 

Tell me not, that winter drear 
Still delays your promised tale, 

That no blossoms yet appear, 
Save the snow-drop in the dale : 

Tell me not the woods are bare ;— 

Vain excuse ! prepare, prepare. 

View the hillock, view the meads : 

All are verdant, all are gay ; 
Julia comes, and with her leads 

Health, and youth, and blooming May, 
When she smiles, fresh roses blow ; 
Where she treads, fresh lilies grow. 



314 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 

Hail ! ye groves of Bagley, hail, 
Fear no more the chilling air : 

Can your beauties ever fail ? 
Julia has pronounc'd you fair. 

She could cheer a cavern's gloom, 

She could make a desert bloom. 



[Gilbert Cooper.] 



JDear Chloe what means this disdain, 
Which blasts each endeavour to please ? 

Tho' forty, I'm free from all pain, 
Save love, I am free from disease. 

No Graces my mansion have fled, 
No Muses have broken my lyre ; 

The Loves frolic still round my bed, 
And Laughter is cheer'd at my fire. 

To none have I ever been cold, 
All beauties in vogue I'm among; 

I've appetite e'en for the old, 
And spirit enough for the young* 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. S 15 

Believe me, sweet girl, I speak true, 

Or else put my love to the test ; 
Some others have doubted like you, 

Like them do you bless and be blest. 



[Gilbert Cooper.] 

I he nymph that I lov'd was as cheerful as day, 
And as sweet as the blossoming hawthorn in May 5 
Her temper was smooth as the down on the dove, 
And her face was as fair as the mother's of Love. 

Tho' mild as the pleasantest zephyr that sheds, 
And receives gentle odours from violet beds, 
Yet warm in afteetion as Phoebus at noon, 
And as chaste as the silver- white beams of the moon. 

Her mind was unsullied as new-fallen snow, 
Yet as lively as tints of young Iris's bow, 
As firm as the rock, and as calm as the flood, 
Where the peace-loving halcyon deposits her brood. 

The sweets that each virtue or grace had in store, 
She cull'd as the bee would the bloom of each 

flow'r. 
Which treasur'd for me, O, how happy was I, 
For tho' her's to collect, it was mine to enjoy. 



316 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[P. Whitehead.] 

As Granville's ,soft numbers tune Myra's just 

praise, 
And Chloe shines lovely in Prior's sweet lays : 
So, would Daphne but smile, their example I'd 

follow, 
And, as she looks like Venus, I'd sing like Apollo : 
But alas ! while no smiles from the fair one in- 
spire, [lyre ! 
How languid my strains, and how tuneless my 

Go, zephyrs, salute in soft accents her ear, 

And tell how I languish, sigh, pine, and despair ; 

In gentlest numbers my passion commend ; 

But whisper it softly, for fear you offend, 

For sure, oh ye winds, ye may tell her my pain, 
""ris Strephon's to suffer, but not to complain. 

Wherever I go, or whatever I do, 
Still something presents the fair nymph to my view : 
If I traverse the garden, the garden still shows 
Me her neck in the lily, her lip in the rose : 

But with her neither lily nor rose can compare ; 

For sweeter's her lip, and her bosom more fair. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 3 1 7 

If, to vent my fond anguish, I steal to the grove, 

The spring there presents the fresh bloom of my 

The nightingale too with impertinent noise, [love j 

Pours forth her sweet strains in my Syren's sweet 

voice : . [brings ; 

Thus the grove and its music her image still 

For like spring she looks fair, like the nightingale" 

sings. 

If forsaking the groves, I fly to the court, 
Where beauty and splendour united resort, 
Some glimpse of my fair in each charmer I spy, 
In Richmond's fair form, or in Brudenel's bright 
eye ; [appear ? 

But, alas ! what would Brudenel or Richmond 
Unheeded they'd pass, were my Daphne but 
there. 

If to books I retire, to drown my fond pain, 

And dwell over Horace, or Ovid's sweet strain ; 

In Lydia, or Chloe, my Daphne J find; 

But Chloe was courteous, and Lydia was kind : 
Like Lydia, or Chloe, would Daphne but prove, 
Like Horace or Ovid I'd sing and 1 'd love. 



318 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



THE IVY. 

[Way, translator of the Fabliaux.] 

Alow yonder ivy courts the oak, 
And clips it with a false embrace ! 

So I abide a wanton's yoke, 
And yield me to a smiling face. 

And both our deaths will prove, I guess, 

The triumph of unthankfulness. 

Flow fain the tree would swell its rind ! 

But, vainly trying, it decays, 
So fares it with my shackled mind, 

So wastes the vigour of my days. 
And soon our deaths will prove, I guess, 
The triumph of unthankfulness. 

A lass, foilorn for lack of grace, 
My kindly pity first did move ; 

And in a little moment's space, 
This pity did engender love. 

And now my death must prove, I guess, 

The triumph of unthankfulness. * 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 31 9 

For now she rules me with her look, 
And round me winds her harlot chain ; 

Whilst hy a strange enchantment struck, 
My nobler will recoils in vain. 

And soon my death will prove, I guess., 

The triumph of unthankfulness. 

But, had the oak denied its shade, 
The weed had traii'd in dust below; 

And she, had I her suit gainsaid, 

Might still have pin'd in want and woe : 

Now, both our deaths will prove, 1 guess, 

The triumph of unthankfulness. 



[Moore.] 



VV hen Damon languish'd at my feet 

And I beheld him true, 
The moments of delight how sweet ! 

But ah ! how swift they flew ! 
The sunny hill, the flow'ry vale, 

The garden and the grove 
Have echoed to his ardent tale, 

And vows of endless love. 



830 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

The conquest gain'd, he left his prize, 

He left her to complain, 
To talk of joy with weeping eyes, 

And measure timely pain. 
But heaven will take the mourner's part 

In pity to despair ; 
And the last sigh that rends the heart 

Shall waft the spirit there. 



Irom anxious zeal and factious strife, 
From all the uneasy cares of life, 
From beauty still to merit blind, 
And still to fools and coxcombs kind ; 
To where the woods in brightest green, 
Like rising theatres are seen, 
Where gently murm'ring runs the rill, 
And draws fresh streams from ev'ry hill ; 

Where Philomel in mournful strains 
Like me of hopeless love complains, 
Retir'd I pass the livelong day, 
And idly trifle life away : 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 8 2 1 

My lyre to tender accents strung, 

I tell each slight, each scorn and wrong, ■ 

Then reason to my aid I call, 

Review past scenes, and scorn them all. 

Superior thoughts my mind engage, 

Allur'd by Newton's tempting page, 

Through new-found worlds I wing my flight, 

And trace the glorious source of light : 

But should Clarinda there appear, 

With all her charms of shape and air, N 

How frail my fixt resolves would prove, \y 

Again I'd yield, again I'd love. 



Why heaves my fond bosom? ah what can' it 



mean 



Why flutters my heart that was once so serene ? 
Why this sighing and trembling when Daphne is 

near ? 
Or why, when she's absent, this sorrow and fear ? 

Y 



322 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. v 

Forever, methinks, I with wonder could trace 
The thousand soft charms that embellish your face. 
Each moment I view thee, new beauties I find ; 
With thy face I am charm'd, but ertslav'd by thy 
mind. „.. 

Untainted by folly, unsullied by pride, 
There native good humour and virtue reside. 
Pray heaven that virtue thy soul may supply [die. 
With compassion for him, who, without thee must 



Iell me, Damon, dost thou languish 
With a slow, consuming fire ; 

Melting still in speechless anguish, 
For the maid thou dost admire ? 

If thy heart such passion prove, 

Shepherd, thou dost truly love. 

Flying, dost thou still pursue her ? 

Absent, does she haunt thy dream ? 
Present, dost thou ceaseless woo her ? 

Is her worth thy only theme ? 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 323 

If thy heart such passion prove/ 
Shepherd, thou dost truly love. 

Does each rival's merit grieve thee ? 

Whilst in health, dost thou complain ? 
Can no balm but love relieve thee ? 

None but Celia ease thy pain ? 
If thy heart such passion prove, J 

Shepherd, thou dost truly love. 

Canst thou view each bright perfection 

In her mind, and in her face ? 
Does each fault escape detection, 

Ev'ry blemish seem a grace ? 
If thy heart such passion prove, 
Shepherd, thou dost truly love. 

Then in love if there be pleasure, 

UnallayM by care or pain, 
Venus shall confer the treasure 

On her true devoted swain. 
Venus shall thy suit approve ; 
Shepherd, thou dost truly love. 



324 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[King.] 
[Bishop of Chichester.] 

Iell me not how fair she is, 

I have no mind to hear 
The story of that distant bliss 

I never shall come near : 
By sad experience I have found 
That her perfection is my wound. 

And tell me not how fond I am 

To tempt my daring fate 
From whence no triumph ever came, 

But to repent too late : 
There is some hope ere long I may 
In silence doat myself away. 

I ask no pity, Love, from thee, 

Nor will thy justice blame, 
So that thou wilt not envy me 

The glory of my flame : 
Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, 
In that it falls her sacrifice. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 325 



[Mrs. Taylor.] 



I e virgin powers ! defend my heart 
From amorous looks and smiles, 

From saucy love, or nicer art, 
Which most our sex beguiles. 

From sighs, from vows, from awful fears, 

That do to pity move ; 
From speaking-silence, and from tears, 

Those springs that water love. 

But, if through passion I grow blind, 

Let honour be my guide ; 
And where frail nature seems inclin'd, 

There place a guard of pride. 

A heart whose flames are seen, tho' pure, 

Needs ev'ry virtue's aid, 
And those who think themselves secure. 

The soonest are betrav'd. 



326 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[A. Bradley.] 

(jjtently touch the warbling lyre, 
Chloe seems inclined to rest, 

Fill her soul with fond desire ; 
Softest notes will soothe her best. 

Pleasing dreams assist in love ; 

Let them all propitious prove. 

On the mossy bank she lies, 
Nature's verdant velvet bed, 

Beauteous flowers meet her eyes, 
Forming pillows for her head. 

Zephyrs waft their odours round, 

And indulging whispers sound. 



SUSANNA. 

A s k if yon damask rose be sweet, 
That scents the ambient air ; 

Then ask each shepherd that you meet 
If dear Susanna's fair. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 327 

Say, will the vulture leave his prey, 

And warble through the grove ; 
Bid wanton linnets quit their spray, 

Then doubt thy shepherd's love. 

The spoils of war let heroes share,. 

Let pride in splendor shine ; 
Ye bards, unenvied laurels wear, 

Be fair Susanna mine. 



[Milton.] 

W ould you taste the noontide air, 
To yon fragrant bower repair, 
Where woven with the poplar bough, 
The mantling vine will shelter you. 

Down each side a river ilows, 
Tinkling, murmuring, as it goes 
Lightly o'er the mossy ground, 
Sultry Phoebus scorching round. 

Round, the languid herds and sheep 
Stretch'd o'er sunny hillocks sleep. 
While on the hyacinth and rose, 
The fair does all alone repose. 



328 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

All alone— and in her arms 
Your breast may beat to love's alarms, 
Till bless'd, and blessing you sball own 
The joys of love are joys alone. 



[Dryden.] 

A h how sweet it is to love ! 

Ah, how gay is young desire ! 
And what pleasing pains we prove, 

When we first approach love's fire $ 
Pains of love be sweeter far 
Than all other pleasures are. 

Sighs, which are from lovers blown, 
Do but gently heave the heart : 

Ev'n the tears they shed alone, 

Cure, like trickling balm, their smart ; 

Lovers, when they lose their breath, 

Bleed away in easy death. 

Love and time with revVence use, 
Treat 'em like a parting friend ; 

Nor. the golden gifts refuse, 

Which, in youth, sincere they send. 

For each year their price is more, 

And they less simple than before. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 329 

Love, like spring-tides full and high, 

Swells in ev'ry youthful vein : 
But each tide does less supply, 

Till they quite shrink in again ; 
If a flow in age appear, 
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. 



CONSTANCY. 

[Rochester.] 

1 cannot change, as others do, 

Though you unjustly scorn : 
Since that poor swain that sighs for you^ 

For you alone was born. 
No, Phillis, no, your heart to move 

A surer way I'll try : 
And to revenge my slighted love, 

Will still love on and die. 

When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies \ 

And you to mind shall call, 
The sighs that now unpitied rise, 

The tears that vainly fall ; 



330 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 

That welcome hour that ends this smart, 
Will then begin your pain ; 

For such a faithful tender heart 
Can never break in vain. 



[Sir John Suckling.] 



1 prithee send me back my heart, 

Since I cannot have thine : 
For if from yours you will not part, 

Why then should you have mine ? 

Yet, now I think on% let it lie, 

To find it were in vain : 
For you've a thief in ev'ry eye, 

Would steal it back again. 

Why should two hearts in one breast lie, 
And yet not lodge together ? 

Oh Love ! where is thy sympathy, 
If tli us our breasts thou sever ? 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 331 

But Love is such a mystery, 

I cannot find it out : 
For when I think I'm best resolv'd, 

I then am most in cloubt. 

Then farewell care, and farewell woe, 

I will no longer pine : 
For Fll believe I have her heart, 

As much as she has mine. 



[Parnell. J 

JVi y days have been so wond'rous free, 

The little birds that fly, 
With careless ease from tree to tree, 

Were not so blest as I. 

Ask gliding waters, if a tear 

Of mine encreas'd their stream ? 

Or ask the flying gales, if e'er 
I lent a sigh to them. 

But now my former days retire, 

/ And I'm by beauty caught : 
The tender chains of sweet desire 
Are nVd upon my thought, 



332 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

An eager hope within my breast 
Does ev'ry doubt controul ; 

And lovely Nancy stands confest, 
The mistress of my soul. 

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines, 
Ye swains that haunt the grove, 

Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds, 
Ye close retreats of Love ; 

With all of nature, all of art, 

Assist the dear design, 
O teach a young unpractis'd heart 

To make her ever mine. 

The very thought of change I hate, 

As much as of despair, 
And hardly covet to be great 

Unless it be for her. 

Tis true, the passion in my mind 
Is mix'd with soft distress ; 

Yet while the fair I love is kind, 
I cannot wish at less. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 333 



[Garrick.] 

1 f truth can fix thy wav'ring heart, 

Let Damon urge his claim, 
He feels the passion void of art, 

The pure, the constant flame. 

Though sighing swains their torments tell, 

Their sensual love contemn ; 
They only prize the beauteous shell, 

But slight the inward gem. 

Possession cures the wounded heart, 

Destroys the transient fire ; 
But when the mind receives the dart, 

Enjoyment whets desire. 

By age your beauty will decay, 
Your mind improves with years ; 

As when the blossoms fade away, 
The rip'ning fruit appears. 

May heaven and Sylvia grant my suit, 

And bless each future hour, 
That Damon, who can taste the fruit, 

May gather ev'ry flower. 



334 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[Akensidb.] 

Jhe shape and face let others prize, 

The features of the fair ; 

I look for spirit in her eyes, 

And meaning in her air. 

A damask cheek, and ivory arm, 
Shall ne'er my wishes win ; 

Give me an animated form, 
That speaks a mind within. 

A soul where awful honour shines ; 

Where sense and sweetness move ; 
Where angel-innocence refines 

The tenderness of love : 

These are the soul of beauty's frame, 

Without whose vital aid, 
Unfinish'd, all the features seem, 

And all the roses dead. 

But ah I when all these charms unite, 

How perfect is the view ! 
With ev'ry image of delight, 

And graces ever new ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 335 

Their pow'r but faintly to express 

All language must despair; 
But go — behold Aspasia's face ! 

And read it perfect there. 



BLUE-EYED MARY. 

In a cottage embosom'd within a deep shade, 
Xike a rose in a desert O view the meek maid, 
Her aspect all sweetness, all plaintive her eye, 
And a bosom for which e'en a monarch might sigh; 
Then in neat Sunday gown see her met by the 

squire, 
All attraction her countenance, his all desire. 
He accosts her, she blushes, he flatters, she smiles, 
And soon blue-eyed Mary 's seduced by his wiles. 

Now with drops of contrition her pillow's wet o'er, 
But the fleece when once stain'd can know white- 
ness no more, 
The aged folks whisper, the maidens look shy, 
To town the squire presses, how can she deny ? 
There — behold her in lodgings, she dresses in style, 
Public places frequents, sighs no more, but reads 
Hoyle, [hate, 

Learns to squander; they quarrel, his love turns to 
And soon blue-eyed Mary is left to her fate, 



33S MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

Still of beauty possess'd, and not yet void of shame, 
With a heart that recoils at a prostitute's name, 
She tries for a service, — her character '$ gone, 
And for skill at her needle, alas ! "tis unknown : 
Pale want now approaches, the pawn-broker's near, 
And her trinkets and cloaths one by one disappear, 
Till at length sorely pinch'd, and quite desperate 

grown. 
The poor blue- eyed Mary is forc'd on the town. 

In a brothel next see her, triek'd out to allure, 
And all ages, all humours compell'd to endure, 
Compell'd, though disgusted, to wheedle and feign, 
With an aspect all smiles, and a bosom all pain, 
Now caress'd, now insulted, now flatter'd, now 

scorn'd, 
And by ruffians and drunkards oft wantonly spurn'd. 
This worst of all misery she's doom'd to endure, 
For the poor blue-eyed Mary is now an impure. 

While thus the barb'd arrow sinks deep in her soul, 
She flies for relief to that traitor, the bowl, 
Grows stupid and bloated, and lost to all shame, 
Whilst a dreadful disease is pervading her frame; 
Now with eyes dim and languid the once blooming 1 

maid, 
In a garret on straw faint and helpless is laid ; 
O mark her pale cheek, see she scarce takes her 

breath, 
And lo ! her blue eyes are now seal'd up in death. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 337 



LOCHINVAR. 



[Walter Scott.] 

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
"Through all the wide border his steed was the best; 
And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode alLalone. 
So faithful in Jove and so dauntless in war, 
That never was Knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 
He swam the Eske river, where ford there was 

none ; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 

all: 
Then spoke the hride's father, his hand on his sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 
*' f O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lard Lochinvar ? 
z 



338 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;— 
Love swells like the Sol way, but ebbs like its tide — 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kiss'd the goblet ; the knight took it up, 
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup ; 
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh. 
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar, 
(i Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume ; 
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, u 'twere better 

by far [invar," 

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Loch- 
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the hall door and the charger 

stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
" She is won! w 7 e are gone, over bank, bush, and 
scaur, Lochinvar. 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 339 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 
clan ; [they ran : 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 



[William Woty.] 



jVXy temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine, 
And barter all joys for a goblet of wine, 
In search of a Venus no longer I'll run, 
But stop and forget her at Bacchus's tun. 

Yet why this resolve to relinquish the fair ? 
? Tis a folly with spirits like mine to despair. 
And pray what mighty joys can be found in a glass. 
If not fill'd to the health of a favourite lass. 

'Tis woman whose joys every rapture impart, 
And lend a new spring to the pulse of the heart. 
The miser himself (so supreme is her sway) 
Grows a convert to love, and resigns her his key. 



340 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

At the sound of her voice sorrow lifts up his head, 
And poverty listens well pleas'd from his shed, 
Whilst age in half extacy hobbling along, * 
Beats time with his crutch to the tune of her song. 

Then fill me a goblet from Bacchus's hoard, 
-The largest, the deepest that stands on the board : 
I'll fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair, 
'Tis the thirst of a lover, then pledge me who dare, 



PLATO'S ADVICE * 



Oays Plato, why should man be vain, 

Since bounteous heaven bath made him great ? 
Why look with insolent disdain 

On those undeck'd with wealth or state ? 
Can splendid robes or beds of down, 

Or costly gems that deck the fair, 
Can all the glories of a crown, 

Give health, or ease the brow of care ? 

* An alteration of a song written by the Rev. Mathew 
jPilkington, beginning 

" Why,Lycidas, should man be vain-," 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 341 

^The scepter'd king, the burthen'd slave, 

The humble and the haughty die ; 
The rich, the poor, the base, the brave, 

In dust, without distinction, lie. 
Go search the tombs where monarchs rest, 

Who once the greatest titles bore ; 
The wealth and glory they possess'd 

And all their honours are no more. 

So glides the meteor thro* the sky, 
- And spreads along a gilded train, 
But when its short-liv'd beauties die, 

Dissolves to common air again. 
So 'tis with us, my jovial souls, 

Let friendship reign while here we stay ; 
Let's crown our joys with flowing bowls, 

When Jove us calls we must obev. 



[Dalton.] 

Jj y the gaily circling glass 
We can see how minutes pass ; 
By the hollow cask are told, 
How the waning night grows old, 



542 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

Soon, too soon the busy day 
- Drives us from our sport and play ; 
What have we with day to do ? 
Sons of care ! \ was made for you. 



[Sheridan.] 

1 his bottle's the sun of our table, 
His beams are rosy wine; 
We planets that are not able 
Without his help to shine. 

Let mirth and glee abound ! 

You'll soon grow bright 

With borrow'd light, 
And shine as he goes round. 



FROM THE PERSIAN, 

[Sir W. Jones.] 

Oweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight, 

And bid these arms thy neck infold ; 

That rosy cheek, that lily hand, 

Would give thy poet more delight 

Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, 

Than all the gems of Samarcand. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 343 

Boy ! let yon liquid ruby flow, 
And bid thy pensive heart be glad, 
Whate'er the frowning zealots say : 
Tell them their Eden cannot show 
A stream so clear as Rocnabad, 
A bower so sweet as Mosellay. 

O when these fair, perfidious maids, 
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest, 
Their dear destructive charms display ; 
Each glance my tender breast invades, 
And robs my wounded soul of rest, 
As Tartars seize their destin'd prey. 

In vain with love our bosoms glow; 
Can all our tears, can all our sighs, 
New lustre to those charms impart ? 
Can cheeks where living roses blow, 
Where Nature spreads her richest dyes, 
Require the borrow'd gloss of art ? 

Speak not of fate : ah ! change the theme, 

And talk of odours, talk of wine, 

Talk of the flowers that round us bloom. 

'Tis all a cloud, 'tis. all a dream ! 

To love and joy thy thoughts confine, 

Nor hope to pierce the sacred gleom 



344 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS, 

Beauty has such resistless power, 
That e'en the chaste Egyptian dame 
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy ; 
For her how fatal was the hour, 
When to the banks of Nilus came, 
A youth so lovely and so coy. 

Eut ah ! sweet maid, my counsel hear : 
(Youth should attend when those advise 
Whom long experience renders sage) 
While music charms the ravish'd ear, 
While sparkling cups delight our eyes, 
Be gay, and scorn the frowns of age. 

What cruel answer have I heard, 
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still : 
Can aught be cruel from thy lip ? 
Yet say, how fell that bitter word 
From lips which streams of sweetness fill, 
Which nought but drops of honey sip ? 

Go boldly forth, my simple lay, 

Whose accents flow with artless ease,^ 

Like orient pearls at random strung : 

Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say ; 

But O ! far. sweeter, if they please 

The nymph for whom these notes are sung, 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 345 



1 ell me no more of pointed darts, 
Of flaming eyes, and bleeding hearts, 

The hyperboles of love ! 
Be honest to yourself and me, 
Speak truly what you hear and see, 

And then your suit may move. 

Why call me angel ! why divine ! 
Why must my eyes the stars outshine ! 

Can such deceit prevail ? 
For shame ! forbear this common rule, 
*Tis low, 'tis insult, calls me fool: 

With me 'twill always fail. 

Would you obtain my honest heart, 
Address my nobler, better part ; 

Pay homage to my mind : 
The passing hour brings on decay, 
And beauty quickly fades away, 

Nor leaves a rose behind. 

Let then your open manly sense 
The moral ornaments dispense, 

And to my w T orth be true : 
So may your suit itself endear, 
Not for the charms you say I wear, 

But those I find in vou. 



34(5 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



[Mrs. Pilkington.] 

I envy not the proud their wealth, 
Their equipage and state ; 

Give me hut innocence and health, 
I ask not to be great. 

I in this sweet retirement find 

A joy unknown to kings ; 
For sceptres to a virtuous mind, 

Seem vain and empty things. 

Great Cincinnatus at his plough, 
With brighter lustre shone, 

Than guilty Caesar e'er could shew, 
Though seated on a throne. 

Tumultuous days and restless nights, 

Ambition ever knows, 
A stranger to the calm delights 

Of study and repose. 

Then free from envy, care, and strife, 
Keep me, ye powers divine ; 

And pleas'd when ye demand my life, 
May I that life resign. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 347 



jL) e a r is my little native vale, 

The ring-dove builds and warbles there \ 
Close by my cot she tells her tale 

To ev'ry passing villager. 
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, 
And shells his nuts at liberty. 

In orange groves and myrtle bow'rs, 
That breathe a gale of fragrance round, 

I charm the fairy-footed hours 

With my loud lute's romantic sound ; 

Or crowns of living laurel weave 

For those that win the race at eve. 

The shepherd's horn at break of day, 
The ballet danc'd in twilight glade ; 

The canzonet and roundelay, 

Sung in the silent greenwood shade. 

These simple joys that never fail, 

Shall bind me to my native vale. 



m MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

THE PRIMROSE. 

[Carew.] 

Ask me why I send you here, 

This firstling of the infant year : 

Ask me why I send to you, 

This primrose all bepearl'd with dew ; 

I straight will whisper in your ears, 

The sweets of love are wash'd with tears. 

Ask me why this flower doth show 
So yellow, green, and sickly too ; 
Ask me why the stalk is weak, 
And bending, yet it doth not break ; 
I must tell you these discover 
What doubts and fears are in a lover. 



ON THE BATTLE OF SABLA. 

[From the Arabic] 
[Carlyle.] 

Dabla, thou saw'st th' exulting foe 
In fancied triumphs crown'd ; 

Thou heard'st their frantic females throw 
These galling taunts around : 






MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 849 

* f Make now your choice, — the terms we give., 

" Desponding victims, hear 5 
" These fetters on your hands receive, 

ce Or in your hearts the spear." 

" And is the conflict o'er," we cried, 

u And lie we at your feet ? 
fc And dare you vauntingly decide 

Ci The fortune we must meet ? 

A brighter day we soon shall see, 

Tho' now the prospect lowers, 
And conquest, peace, and liberty 

Shall gild our future hours. 

The foe advanc'd :— -in firm array 

We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands, 
And the red sabre mark'd our way 

Amidst their yielding bands. 

Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasps 
We cried, " Our choice is made,x 

These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp, y 
Your hearts shall have the blade" 



350 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



CmuEL invader of my rest, 
Thou fatal, bold, intruding guest, 

Thy new assaults forbear : 
Alas ! I know nor health nor ease, 
My life is grown a mere disease 

Abandon'd to despair ! 

When I the dear deceiver view, 
I can't forbear to think her true : 

But absent from her eye, 
A thousand anxious fears arise, 
A thousand racking jealousies, 

I rave ! I rage ! I die ! 

Alone ! I would thy force elude, 
But love delights in solitude, 

And doubt still revels here ; 
I seek relief from company, 
But that affords no charms to me, 

If Cynthia is not there. 

All day I muse ! all night I dream ! 
My passion is my constant theme, 

Nor take I food or rest ; 
I know and find myself undone ; 
Yet madly push my ruin on, 

Though slighted and opprest. 



J 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 351 

Oh Love ! thy wond'rous power I own, 
Let now thy clemency be shown ; 

And Cynthia bear a part : 
Transpire her breast with equal flame., 
Or let me be myself again, 

And take away thy dart. 



Oh ! how vain is ev'ry blessing. 
How insipid all our joys, 

Life how little worth possessing, 
But when love its time employs ! 

Love, the purest, noblest pleasure, 
That the gods on earth bestow, 

Adding wealth to ev'ry treasure, 
Taking pain from ev'ry woe. 



JlLncompass'd in an angel's frame, 

An angel's virtues lay ; 
Too soon did Heaven assert the claim, 

And call'd its own away. 



352 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 

My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms, 

Must never more return ; 
What now shall fill these widow'd arms ? 

Ah ! me — my Anna's urn. 



London : Printed by W. Bulmcr and Co* 
Cleveland-row, St. James's. 



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